


Mind Games

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Psychics/Psionics, F/M, Flirting, Government Agencies, Murder Mystery, POV Multiple, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: He sighed a little. “We are technically the Agency Devoted to Alternate Methods of Security. ADAMS.”Tabby processed that a moment. “You’re a bunch of enhanced. Working for a shady agency. Named ADAMS.” Byrne nodded, looking a combination of weary and expectant. She couldn’t help it, she lifted a hand and snapped twice. He nodded, like that’s what he’d been expecting.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 105
Kudos: 103





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the first of our original works! This, and pieces of several sequels, were written well over a decade ago, when we still thought we wanted to be published authors. We put it away as it became clear we had neither the time or temperament for the publishing world. We loved the characters and the world, though, and are thrilled to be able to share it.
> 
> Because many of you said you preferred something tangentially related to the MCU, and because I loved the version of Amanda I wrote for the _Spiders Web_ series we thought she would fit in well in this world. We wrote the below prologue to link the two. Please enjoy the first step into a brand new world of ours.

The first place to start was the SHIELD files.

They had tracked everything, and all of their files had been dumped on the internet. The vast majority of it had been encrypted, and no small undertaking to decode. Stark had people, vast server banks, and an AI working on it full time. The greatest computer in the world, however, was no match for the human mind.

There was no mind on earth a match for The Doctor’s.

Tony Stark’s came the closest, which is why they were friends. She wondered sometimes what might have happened if someone had given him the serum. Self-destruction, most likely. It was probably a miracle his father hadn’t given it to himself. In any case, Stark was smart enough to give her a task, give her funding, and not be underfoot.

SHIELD kept files on a lot of people it thought were enhanced. It was obvious to her pretty quickly that most of the people on their radar were those that were, well, bad at being enhanced. The did something stupid or public with their skills. A rare few were like the kid with the webshooters, who turned out to just be a naive and earnest teenage boy who was lousy at discretion. Peter Parker was an Avenger now. Some people wanted to be flashy heroes, but that wasn’t the only thing she was looking for. Amanda wanted to meet the enhanced people who knew how to operate under the radar. 

She expected the personnel files to be a trove of information, but it became obvious Natasha Romanov had scrambled them beyond recognition during the information dump. A move Amanda respected even if it did impede her work.

“It would have burned a lot of people in very dangerous positions,” Sharon told her when Amanda mentioned it. “I’d have done the same.” Sharon tasted the sauce she was cooking, seeming to consider something. “Long after she retired, Aunt Peggy kept tabs on SHIELD through her connections, and she used to complain that Fury was entirely too obsessed with flash.”

The more she got to know Sharon and heard first-hand stories of Peggy Carter, the more Amanda felt she would have liked her. "He was. Too many comic books, if you ask me. He wanted the matching uniforms and superhero team. Useful for aliens in New York, less so for everyday problems.”

“There were people at SHEILD that were likely enhanced, but unless it was weird it wasn’t really discussed.” She made a gesture. “Clint Barton’s senses—eyesight, hearing, proprioception, balance—are largely anatomically impossible. But it’s boring so nobody talked about it. He ended up with the Avengers by accident.”

"That is exactly the sort of thing I'm hoping to find," Amanda said, scrolling her trackpad idly. "I suspect there's large numbers of people like that in the world. Some of them might be dangerous. Some might want to be useful. All of them might need protection from groups looking to exploit them.”

“SHIELD was very compartmentalized, that’s how Hydra did their dirty work. But Peggy would tell me stories sometimes. . .”

Immediately, Amanda pulled her notebook closer. "Tell me. No matter how crazy.”

Sharon stirred the sauce and took it off the stove. “It goes way back. When she was with the SSR, they had a file on such people that was summarily confiscated by the British government, who denied it ever existed when they founded SHEILD. Supposedly there is an entire family in San Francisco classified as an 0-8-4. A mobster who could read minds. A pilot who made a completely normal landing with what turned out to be no hydraulics.” She looked at Amanda. “At the end of her life, when she was drifting in an out of lucidity, she told me SHIELD had some guy who could predict the future. But these may all be old or possibly dead people.”

Amanda jotted down some notes. "Did you ever hear rumors when you were working there? Anyone ever get out of a situation that looked impossible? Knew where the hostages were without being told?”

She could see Sharon considering. “I know a guy who came over to the CIA from SHIELD who was like Houdini. No lock he couldn’t get through. Odd guy, looks like a central casting Spook, spent a couple years in medical school but does something very mundane in logistics.” 

That was very interesting. "What's his name?"

"John Byrne."

She jotted that down. "Do you think you could arrange a meeting with me?”

“I can certainly try.”

"I'll do some research on him. And dig more into personnel files. There have to be more like that. Like Barton. Useful skills that slip through the radar.”

“I can make some calls. I still have friends.”

"I'd appreciate it. I don't need confirmation, just leads.”

The next day, she pulled all the records she could find on John Byrne. The personnel records might be scrambled, but she could get his military and medical records. He’d been special forces before SHEILD, and been involved in an ambush where he fought off seven enemies with a malfunctioning gun. A year later, during a different op, he hiked four hours through the mountains with a thigh wound that turned out to have bisected his femoral artery.

She really needed to meet this guy.

Sharon let her tag along to work on Friday. "I didn't put you on his schedule," she warned. "I don't know the guy, he might be a dick."

"I cannot express how little that worries me.”

Sharon chuckled a little. “Fair."

They said their goodbyes and Amanda headed to the logistics floor where Byrne worked. He had a small semi-private office, and it looked like his office mate wasn't in yet.

He looked exactly as Sharon had described, dark suit, short clipped hair. Like a B-movie CIA spy, meant to stick out so the audience noticed him.

She walked over to the office, visitor tag slapping against her thigh, and tapped on the door. "Mr. Byrne?”

He lifted his head to look at her. “Can I help you?”

"My name is Amanda Newbury. I wondered if I could ask you some questions about your time with SHEILD.”

He sighed a little. “I thought all the investigations were done.”

"They are. I'm working on a new project and your name came up as a candidate.”

“I’m listening.”

She studied him a moment. He was not the kind to appreciate her easing into the conversation. Nor was he someone who would trust her or respect her without a little evidence of her own skills. So she went straight to the point. "Did Fury know you were enhanced or was he too distracted by the shiny spandex to know what he had in field agents?”

“I hate the word ‘enhanced’. Like I drank a magic potion.”

Considering she had, essentially, drunk one, she sympathized. "I'm not a fan of it either. I think we need to specify the language between naturally powered people and those who've gotten enhancements through science. Terminology clarification is on my to do list.”

“The science ones are easier to find. They’re not taught by their parents to guard their secret.” He regarded her a moment. “Thanks to the spandex crowd, it’s now pretty dangerous to have something like that.”

"That's where my new project comes in. I was tasked with finding enhanced who wanted to join the Avengers. In the process, I realized there were other, quieter people. People who wouldn't want to put on a flashy uniform and fight monsters but who might still need protection, or help, or need to be watched to make sure they aren't dangerous.”

“I’m not sure I need any of those things.”

"Would you like to help find people who do?”

“You have my interest.” He leaned back in his chair. “How did you find me, by the way?”

"Sharon Carter mentioned you had some legends attached to you at SHEILD. I dug into your military records. There was enough of a pattern to make a strong hypothesis.”

“Did your hypothesis tell you what I can do or just that there must be something?

She paused, studying him a moment. "I know you can pick locks without tools, pinch an artery with enough precision to not give yourself gangrene, and kill a group of soldiers without a weapon. My best guess is some sort of very fine telekinesis, combined with medical knowledge, to know how the human body works.”

He looked very impressed. “You can imagine what SHIELD did with that skill.”

"Enough I have the urge to look into some prominent natural deaths that occurred during your tenure.”

Byrne smiled, something she sensed was rare. “Sounds like time for me to put in my notice.”

*

Amanda decided Byrne did not need to meet Stark. She’d probably have to introduce them eventually, but her gut told her someone that private and yet interesting meeting someone that curious and persistent would not end well.

She did introduce him to James, though, and was unsurprised they got along. They set up an office in a nondescript building in a different part of Manhattan, to give them a little space from Stark Tower and the Avengers. 

“Have you looked into SHIELD legacies at all?” Byrne asked one afternoon.

"With the personnel files the way they are I've only been able to tease out a couple. They were mostly like Sharon, someone started during or immediately after the war and regaled their descendants with enough stories they signed up. Met a brilliant biochemist I could not woo away from her current partner, but otherwise nothing of note.”

There was a knock on the outer office door, startling them both.

"Did you order pizza?" she asked him, standing to open the door. Byrne shook his head.

On the other side, there was a burly guy in a tan trench coat. “You must be Amanda Newbury,” he said. The drawl was heavy but honest—southern Louisiana, more Baton Rouge than New Orleans, but definitely cajun country. He held out a hand. “Reg Montrichard.”

She took his hand. "You were in the SHIELD files. You were listed as a data processor but had a level 5 salary. I assume the source of that discrepancy is how you found me.”

“If my true clearance level had been listed you probably would have come looking for me.”

"You were on my list, just still in the research phase." She stepped back, holding the door open "Come in and tell me what you do.”

“I see the future.”

Amanda stopped and turned to look at him. Very rarely was she surprised anymore. “Bullshit."

He rolled his eyes up a moment, then said, “Your husband is about to slice his hand on his table saw. Would be a serious injury in anyone else. Call him in five minutes—no, call Steve. James won’t pick up.”

"Hmm. Do you know Byrne?”

“Someday he’s going to wear a pink baby carrier into the office,” Reg said after a moment, and Byrne made a choking noise.

Amanda stared at him again. "Keep coming up with stuff like that and I'm going to give you all the money.”

“Do you see big events or just small moments?” Byrne asked.

"Everything. Hurricanes and tornadoes to coffee spills and flat ties.”

“I assume you can’t stop a tornado, but what about man made events? Like the Battle of New York.”

Reg opened his mouth, but Amanda spoke first. “You’re why the death toll was so low. There was a signal outage that morning. Metro-North, LIRR, all the subway lines were held outside of the perimeter.” It had struck her as wildly improbably when she’d come across that fact, but she’d had other priorities than to think about it at the time.

“And the payment processing system used by most of the cab drivers went down,” Reg said with a smile. “For the record, SHIELD didn’t have eyes and ears everywhere and in no way was it technologically possible to for them to access every camera on earth. They scanned the small fraction they did have while I waited for Fred to sort out where Loki had gotten off to.”

"Who's Fred?" Byrne asked.

Reg sighed a little. "The voice in my head that tells me the future."

They both looked at him a moment, then Amanda gestured for him to explain. "Precognition runs in my family. In the men. And for most of our history it's killed them young. It can be really unsettling to know the future, especially in a constant stream of information. Some of us have found ways to channel it. Art, dreams. I created a second personality in my head. _He_ deals with the premonition stream and only tells me relevant, important stuff.”

“What have you been doing since SHIELD fell?” Amanda asked. 

"Went home to Louisiana, spend time with my mother and sister. Did some investing. Little vigilante work.”

“Interested in getting back to work?” Byrne asked,

“My only condition is that I don’t want to be registered and sign the Accords.”

“You and me both,” Byrne said.

"I'm working on that," Amanda said. "But for now, there's no reason to involve the Accords as we aren't superheroing.”

“Good,” Reg said. “I have a name for you, but he is _really_ not going to want to sign them.”

"I'm a brilliant negotiator. What's the name?"

“Luca Adriano.”

Amanda blinked, then laughed. "Shit, I'm an idiot. I've been so distracted by the SHIELD leads I hadn't even thought about crime." She walked back to her desk and rummaged in her bag to find her notebook. 

“She knows a lot about crime,” Bryne commented. “I chose not to ask.”

"That's probably for the best," Reg told him.

She found what she was looking for and pulled out her phone. "Luca," she said when he answered. "It's the Doctor. I have a proposition for you.”

*

With Reg's help, it was a lot easier to fill out their ranks. They found a man who remembered everything, a woman who sensed the emotions of others, and a few brilliant scientists. It became apparent that there were a lot more like them to be found. It also became apparent that they were going to need some sort of backing besides Stark for this to actually work.

After a few brainstorming sessions with Sharon and Stark, Amanda finally struck on an idea.

"We are going to become a classified government agency," she told the team once she'd finally hammered out the details.

"I told you I would not sign the Accords," Luca said, more of his Sicilian accent coming out with the anger.

She held up a hand. "That is exactly why we're doing this. The Accords are designed to organize and regulate private superhero groups, like the Avengers. So that they are held accountable for their actions and any destruction they might cause. What the Accords cannot do is govern what countries do with their military or agencies. So, the safest and surest way to not get noticed or fall under the Accords is for us to fall under the protection of our government."

"So like SHEILD?" Byrne asked.

"Similar. My goal is to keep us smaller and better hidden than SHEILD. We will be a classified group. We will not have badges or a big flashy building on the Potomac. Our existence will be known to a handful of officials and no one else. And the things we deal with with not be acknowledged. Technically, we're a branch of the DOD. We will track and secure others with powers. People who don't want to be superheroes, or don't have applicable powers, but might need government protection or monitoring."

Jordan, the empath, raised her hand. "So Byrne will finally be the spook he's been dressing as?"

"Yes," Amanda said simply, adding to the chuckles.

After a moment, Byrne said, “Okay. I’m in.”

"Is it because your suit will finally make sense?" Jordan asked him.

Byrne cracked a little bit of a smile, and then looked at Amanda. “I’m not sure this one has the temperament for government service.” 

“If it doesn’t work out,” Luca said. “We can just blow up the building. There’s precedent for that. And I know a guy.” He looked at Byrne. “Doc knows _the_ guy.”

"I know all the guys," Amanda said easily. "The transition will take a few weeks. I will go over all the paperwork before I have any of you sign anything but you're all free to take it home and look it over. Once it's finalized, we'll likely move buildings.”

“States,” Reg said.

Most of them turned to look at him. Amanda sighed. "I thought the point of Fred was for you to have _some_ sort of filter.”

“If I didn’t say something now, Zelda was going to buy a condo with cash tomorrow and spend the next two year tied up in litigation with the son of a shady Russian oligarch.”

"Fine." She crossed her arms. "There's a very good chance we will need to relocate to DC. Please do not purchase any property until I have a solid answer. And if and when you _do_ purchase property do some research into who you're buying it from, Jesus.”

“Sooner rather than later would be good to know,” Luca said. “I got kids. Carmine’s not going to be happy moving her last year of high school.”

Amanda inclined her head. "I should know by next week. If you're comfortable, James and I would be happy to let her stay with us so she could finish the year."

He nodded. “I’ll talk to Gianna.”

"If anyone has any other concerns about moving, please let me know and I'll do my best to find a solution. For now, back to work and I'll tell you when I have a solid answer.”

She had her answer, and a location on their likely office location in Northern Virginia, a week later. The staff rolled with it perfectly fine. Amanda’s husband, not so much.

“I don’t want to live down there. I don’t even want to visit.”

It wasn't an unexpected response. He loved the brownstone and they had only just finished major renovations to make it work for all of them. Living upstairs from Steve and his wife was something of a life-long dream for him.

"I've already thought of that," she told him, leaning in to kiss his cheek as he chopped onions. "We will be staying here.”

“Are you not going to be working with them?”

"Oh, I'll be working there. It's an office full of psychics. They need herding." She pulled out cream and spices to start making a sauce for the chicken he was prepping. "I've been looking into commuting options and I think I found a workable solution.”

“Are we buying a helicopter?” he asked, clearly half joking.

“No,” Amanda replied. After a pause, she added. “But I do need to call Stark.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now starts the main story! We've been so tickled by the response, we hope you guys like it!
> 
> We'll be posting this on a regular schedule, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturday or Sunday.

The wheels touched down on the runway at Dulles airport, and John Byrne exhaled the breath he was embarrassed to admit he’d been holding. He hated flying, particularly commercial flights, in defiance of all logic that it was safe. He collected his carry-on and marched through the terminal. People moved out of his way. It wasn’t deliberate, but it seemed to happen in crowds anyway. He intimidated nearly everyone even if it was only at an unconscious level. Sometimes it bothered him, at the moment all he cared about was if the car service was prompt and waiting for him by beyond security, and they hadn't misspelled his name. 

No one was there holding placard for him, not even as "Burns" or "Bennett" or any of the other funny things he'd seen. Damn it. He hated taxis.

He was halfway to the doors when he heard someone calling his name. "Byrne! Byrne, God damn it, wait up." He turned and took a moment to spot the petite redhead chasing him down. She reached him and glowered up at him, blowing a wisp of too-long bangs out of her eyes. "I go to the bathroom for one minute. . ." she griped, mockingly shaking a finger at him.

He found himself smiling, the muscles feeling unused. "You came to the airport. You hate airports. It's a building full of anxiety."

"That it is. Thus my charming mood and deep desire to get the hell out of here. Come on, the elevator to the parking garage is this way." She turned to lead him to the elevator bank, not even trying to help him with his carryon, which seemed to be the custom when someone picked you up at the airport. She knew better by now.

Jordan Price had been his partner for more than half of the seven years he'd been at his current job. She had a relentless determination to inject warmth and family into his fairly sterile military-influenced existence. He pretended to merely tolerate it, because he couldn't admit out loud that he actually liked it. Jordan could feel the emotions of people around her, so his pleasure at her fussing was their little secret. However, being a high level empath also made it hard for her to be in crowded places, and caused him a twinge of guilt. He fell into step beside her. "You could have let the car service come."

"I had intended to. But your hellbeast seems to think that you get back home faster when someone picks you up. I like all my limbs attached so I decided to come." She covered her hand with the end of her sleeve and poked the elevator button. To an outsider she probably looked like a germaphobe, maybe an OCD sufferer, doing her best to never touch anything with her bare skin. In reality it was a defense mechanism to keep from getting inundated with the emotions of people who had previously touched it. He doubted she was even consciously aware of doing it anymore. "At least I convinced him not to come along," she added as the doors opened.

"How was he?" Jordan had been house- and dog-sitting for John while he was out of town.

She sighed. "For a large manly German Sheppard he sure is a whiner. I do not run fast enough or make breakfast the way you do. My belly rubs are not firm enough and I hog the bed."

He looked over at her. "He's not allowed to sleep in the bed."

She gaped at him. "He's not-- He told me he was lonely!"

He laughed. "Do I look like a man who lets his dog sleep in the bed?"

She sputtered. "That little brat. He snores, too."

He patted her shoulder, careful to touch only her sweater and coat. Jordan was strong enough she didn't need to touch people to feel what they felt, but contact made it all but overwhelming. She claimed she didn't mind John, called him her "emotional white noise" but he tried to avoid skin to skin contact with her. It seemed polite. "Sorry."

She sighed. "It's fine." The doors opened and she led him out to the lot, heading for her Stark Electric car in the far corner. "I got you more plants, by the way."

"I won't remember to water them."

"I will. I'll email and text you until you start watering them just to shut me up." She unlocked the car and opened the trunk for him to toss his bag in. "Straight home or do you need to pick up anything?"

"To the office, I have things to do. Panzer can wait."

She shook her head. "Well, at least he’ll complain to you, not me." They pulled out of the lot, making their way to the highway. He could see her shoulders loosening as they got distance between them and the airport.

"You okay?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Airports. And staying in your condo I was living closer to people than I’m used to. Do you think next time you can get a normal dog? Maybe a Golden Retriever? They're usually nice to be around. Relaxed, kinda dumb. Obsessed with squirrels."

"I appreciate you watching him, he doesn't do well alone. Or in kennels." He opened his phone and checked his messages. "Doc called me four times. That's never good." Dr. Amanda Newbury, their boss, might be the only person John was still scared of. John’s previous partner, who had known her before Adams was founded, called her only Doctor, and the shortened nickname stuck. New people were always very surprised to learn she both really was a doctor, and that is was an MD and not a PhD.

Jordan smirked, glancing his way. "I think she missed you. You know she gets weird when her favorite son is missing."

"It's not like I was on vacation." Doc was the one who sent him to Qatar. It wasn’t precisely a place he’d go for a pleasure trip. Winter was his favorite season, and he’d already spent too much of his life in the desert. Sometimes he wished he was still young enough to go play in the snow.

When they parked in front of the nondescript office building where they worked, they both climbed out. You would never imagine one of the Defense Department's most highly classified projects was housed in this building. The sign on the door said Adams Investments, though they weren’t listed in any phone registry. There was a certain security in anonymity.

They walked past the normal, corporate-looking receptionist and swiped cards to get through the main doors. Then the real security began. Biometric and voice scanners got you into the elevator, and up a floor, but you couldn't get out of the elevator without express action from the AI that ran the security system or someone on the inside. Well, John could, only because he was telekinetic and he'd never met a lock he couldn't override. But it made his boss angry when he did that, so he hit the button as per procedure. "Byrne and Price reporting in."

"Welcome back," came in response. The doors slid open to reveal Carmine Adriano standing there. "Doc wants to talk to you." John wasn’t entirely sure what Carmine’s official, on-paper title was. Office manager might be close, but she had far more responsibility then your average paper pusher, despite occasionally ordering lunch and running to Starbucks for the rest of them. She was like an executive assistant, but belonged to all of them, instead of one. Jordan called her the team mom, despite her being younger than most of them. It fit as well as anything else.

"I heard," he said. "What's going on?"

"Officially, I don't know," she said, falling into step with them as they headed for the Doc's office. "Unofficially. . . Reg is in a tizzy about something. He's buzzing, but I don't know specifics." Carmine was a high level telepath. Something that came in very handy in her position, whatever it was. She was also usually the one to go to for office news and gossip.

"Lovely. Thanks for the lift," he said to Jordan. "Coffee?" he asked Carmine.

"I'll bring you some." She veered off towards the break room. Jordan patted his back as she branched off to her office. He went back to Doc's office door, and knocked.

"Come in, Byrne," she called.

He pushed the door open and leaned on the jamb. "What's up?"

She looked up, tilting her head to look at him with her good eye. Doc was trim and leanly muscled, with long dark brown hair. She could have been anywhere from thirty to fifty, it was impossible to tell. She had lost an eye at some point in her youth. Sometimes she wore an eyepatch. Sometimes she had a glass eye. The incident that had removed the eye and give her a scar that bisected her eyebrow and traced down her cheek was a mystery. John had spent more than a decade of his life working for enigmas with one eye. "Come in and have a seat, please," she said. "How was Qatar?”

“Hot. Sandy. Ultimately a waste of time.”

“False alarm?”

He lifted a shoulder as he nudged the door closed and took a seat. “Robin thought it might be. Sometimes the guy hearing voices is just schizophrenic. I have no doubt he hears people plotting terrorist attacks but they aren’t real.” Part of their mission was to find enhanced people, either those who could help them, those who needed help, or those who might be a danger. Unfortunately, people with real powers were often indistinguishable from people with psychosis, making for some protracted investigations. When they led somewhere dangerous, John was always the one to run them down. 

At the moment, he was watching his boss. “You didn’t call me multiple times and send Carmine for me to get a debriefing on a routine asset assessment. What’s going on?”

She blew out a breath. “Reg has a prediction."

"I already heard about that thing with the train accident."

"No, this is something a little more personal." She steepled her fingers. "Did you hear about the murder victim found on the lawn of the National Mall yesterday morning?"

"Yes. Are we getting involved? Metro never likes that.” For reasons known only to Doc and Doc’s shady past, occasionally they got involved in mundane crime happenings. It would always make sense later because Doc played 4th dimensional chess as a hobby.

"I know. It's a problem. The police don't want us to meddle. We have no jurisdiction to meddle, based on current evidence. By all rights we shouldn't touch it; it's too small for us. However. . ."

"Was the victim on your candidate watch list?"

"No. But according to Reg his third victim is going to be Zelda Churchill."

John stared at her. Zelda Churchill worked for the team. He didn't say anything, just stood up and walked out of Doc's office. She called for him, but he didn't listen. He went down the internal stairs to Reg Montrichard's office at the back of the building. He worked out of the records room with his partner, a man who remembered everything. 

They were seated, as usual, at a couple of desks in the back of the room. John had to wind through a maze of shelves and boxes to reach them. Reg got to his feet when he emerged, looking wary. "Doc talked to you."

"Yeah. She did."

Reg shoved his hands in his pockets. "You have this look about you like you're going to hit me." It was a testament to John reputation that this appeared to make Reg - who had to have a good thirty pounds on him - obviously nervous.

"Well, no, because this time when someone was going to kill a member of my team, you told someone."

Reg sighed deeply. "Yes. I did."

"Do you know enough to stop it?"

Reg shook his head. "I have a picture of the guy; Doc's working on getting me a sketch artist. I know she's the third victim. But I don't have a date or name."

"Have you told her? Zelda?"

"Doc asked me not to until she talked to you and had a plan of attack. She's about to come up behind you and yell, by the way. And Carmine has your coffee."

John sighed. Knowing someone who could see the future was always strange. "Thanks."

Doc appeared at his side. "When I call your ass back to my office, you get your ass back to my office," she told him. She sounded irritated. Irritated Doc was bad for his health.

"I didn't hit him," he replied.

She crossed her arms. "I've very proud of you. My, how you've grown. Can we get to business now?"

He blew out a breath. "Yes, ma'am."

"Back to my office, it's cold down here." She headed back into the maze. "Reg! You come too."

He fell into step behind John. "Is it just me, or is she sounding more and more like someone's crotchety grandma?"

"For all I know, she has grandchildren. Why is it so cold down here?"

"Zelda’s servers. We’ve been complaining for years. Maybe she’ll do something now."

“I wouldn’t hold my breath. Though if you complain loud enough, maybe she’ll send you to Qatar.” They reached Doc's office and John sat. "So we're definitely doing something about this." It wasn’t a question.

She sighed, sinking into her chair. "To a degree. As I was saying before you ran off, there's not much I can do officially. I'm putting a bodyguard on Zelda and keeping an ear on the police investigations. There'll be a sketch artist here in an hour to work with Reg and we'll try to get an ID from that. Other than that there’s not a lot I can do - officially. A serial killer, horrible as it may be, is not in our job description."

"How much are you willing to let us do unofficially?"

Doc smiled widely. "What you all do off the clock and out of this office is in no way my business, Byrne."

He returned the smile. "Can I have that in writing?"

"What have I told you? Never put anything in writing."

"A boy can dream."

"Mmm. Do you want to be the one to tell Zelda, or me?"

"I can do it," Reg offered.

John glanced over at him. "You sure?"

He nodded. "I'll be fine; I've given bad news before. Besides, she might cry. I don't think you're good with crying."

"I'm really not."

He shrugged. "I can handle it. Southern charm and all that."

"I'll look into the rest of it," John said. "See if I can weasel anything out of Metro."

Doc nodded. "Have fun recuperating from your trip," she said neutrally.

"Thanks." He stood. "Can I go now?"

"Yes. Thank you for not punching anyone."

He turned in the doorway. “It was just that once, you know. And I had grounds.”

“Yeah. Go work.”

*

Tabitha MacAllister watched the news when she cooked. It probably wasn't healthy. Half the stories made her angry and most of the rest just depressed her. But it had become habit. The news was on when she cooked dinner. Tonight they were talking about the girl they'd found by the Smithsonian. Tabby stirred her white bean chili and glared at the TV, lost in thought.

Her housemate wandered into the kitchen and peeped at the TV, then back at Tabby. "You're making concerned-face."

"I like that you can tell my concerned face from my generally pissed off face."

“Your brows furrow more.” Tove came over to inspect the chili. "Something bad on the news?"

Tabby pointed at the TV screen with her stirring spoon. "They found a woman murdered the other day. They're not saying a lot but something about it. . . I don't know. It's getting under my skin for some reason. I'm trying to put my finger on it." She offered her a bite. "Tell me if it's too spicy."

"I think everything's too spicy." She tasted. "It's good. I think your cop instincts are bored."

"There are murders on the news every day; they don't set my radar off." She turned the heat down to step away and check on her cornbread. "They said she was mutilated. No details. I wish I knew people on the force in DC."

"You're retired."

"I'm still curious.” She pulled the cornbread out and set it on a pad on the counter.”I can't explain it."

"You could call your brother. He knows people in odd places."

Tabby sighed. "Yeah. But he'll want to know why I want to know and I won't be able to explain it sufficiently and he'll get his concerned _voice_ and I'll get a call from my therapist." She shook her head, cutting a piece of cornbread. "I should forget it. You're probably right, I'm just getting bored."

Tove tilted her head. "You want me to go digging in your head a little? See if I can find anything?"

Tabby took a big bite of the bread and munched, thinking. Tove was an exceptionally strong telepath, by far the strongest Tabby had ever met. She could see things in people's subconscious if she looked hard enough. Living with her Tabby was generally used to having her in her head all the time. Having her root around in her lizard brain was still a little much for her, though. "Nah. Not yet. I'll just keep an eye on it. If I get twitchier I'll think about it."

"I know you still get the urge to hunt."

She grinned widely, showing teeth. Tabby came from a family of uniquely enhanced individuals. They called themselves vadasz, an old Romanian word meaning "hunter." They had mild telepathy, but their true powers were physical. They were faster and stronger than normal people and had superior senses. Most of them were in touch with their more animal nature and Tabby was no exception. "I do. Sometimes I think about getting back into law enforcement. But I think I'm too old and cranky. Maybe I should look into vigilante justice."

"Doesn't that often end in jail time?"

Tabby winked. "Only if they catch you. The chili should be ready."

Tove reached in the cabinet and pulled down bowls. "I would make an excellent lookout."

"That you would. You would even need to see all the exits." They dished up their food and Tabby turned the TV off on her way to the table. "I guess I'm in a bit of a funk lately. Do you ever think about what you want to do with yourself? The future?"

"I like my job. I don't know that translating user manuals into Norwegian is exactly my life's work, but it keeps me busy. "

"It's not that I don't like my job. Sure, I read some really, really terrible amateur novels. But I also read some really good stuff and can find a certain amusement in the bad stuff. It's not what I thought I'd do with my life, but it's not bad." She poked her chili, stirring sour cream in. "I just. . . I don't want to be doing it the rest of my life. But I don't see what I can do to change it."

"Do you really want to get back into law enforcement?

"I've thought about it, like I said. But I don't think I have the stomach for police work anymore. There's my family's PI business, but I promised Chris years ago I wouldn't horn in on it. Besides, tracking down cheating husbands and taking pictures of them isn't my idea of fun."

Tove sighed. "I miss interpreting. It was far more exciting. But it made me so crazy I developed a drug addiction to cope, and ended up homeless. I like the fact that our lives don't contain any drama."

"I don't think I'm looking for drama. Excitement, maybe? Adventure?"

"We could travel. I've heard exciting things about Tibet."

Tabby tilted her head. "I have always wanted to see where my family is from. Though there is a distinct chance we could get burnt as witches."

"I don't think they do that anymore."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Let's do it. Let's go somewhere."

Tabby grinned. "We are both due for a vacation."

"Exactly. I haven't been anywhere but New York and here since I got clean."

"Do you really want to try overseas as the first trip? Long plane ride, plus the airports. We could try somewhere stateside first."

"I've always wanted to go to New Orleans."

Tabby gave her a toothy grin again. "We could go for Mardi Gras and get laid."

"Oh, I don't know. Do you have any idea what men think about during sex?"

"I always imagined it was some kind of white noise punctuated by exclamations of 'Yay! Boobies!'"

"Often it's like someone narrating a porno. Or they're thinking about someone else. It's lovely."

Tabby frowned. "Surely you're not resigned to a life of celibacy."

"Got any hot cousins?"

She laughed. "I can look into it."

"I'm going to go get some more cornbread. And then we will plan our trip."


	3. Chapter 3

John was running late on his way into work, but Carmine still had hot coffee ready for him. "Reg was looking for you, and your father called. Again." The last word was rather pointed.

"Right," he said, not providing her with the response she was obviously looking for. "Thanks," he added, taking the coffee. He went inside his office, picked up the phone and called Reg. "It's Byrne. You called?"

"I didn't actually," came back the thick drawl. Every time he heard Reg talk, John pictured him sitting on a veranda drinking Mint Juleps. The man sounded like Rhett Butler. Well, Rhett Butler if you sprinkled a little cajun in there. "Just planned to call you."

"Well. Carmine," he said, by way of explanation. "You talk to Zelda yet?"

"Ah, no. But before I get to that, you need to call the governor of California and have them shut the Bay Bridge down."

"Why? And when?"

"There's going to be an earth quake this week. High 6s. If there's people on the bridge it'll be a bad day."

"They're going to want me to be more precise than 'this week'."

"The tectonic plates don't actually obey Fred's whims. It'll be this week. That's the best I got."

Getting accustomed to Fred had to be the strangest thing about knowing Reg. Fred was. . . Reg's other personality. Fred was actually the one who saw the future, and he shared what he saw with Reg according to some predetermined rules dating from Reg's childhood. John found the whole thing very strange, but Reg was, as far as any of them knew, the longest lived sane precog in existence. Most of them were overcome by dementia by their early-to-mid-twenties. Whatever worked, he supposed. But John never quite got used to discussing Fred like he was an actual, second person. "Right, right. So about the other thing?"

"Yeah. The sketch artist came and we got a good likeness. Henry is rummaging in our files and we're comparing it to known, free serial killers. He's killed before, it's just a matter of finding out where and when. When we get a name I'll let you know."

"Does Henry recognize the face?"

"He said he saw it in a paper about 5 years ago but he didn't read the article that went with it. He's hunting."

"Good. That's something. Keep me posted?"

"Will do. I'm going to talk to Zelda now."

He sighed. "Good luck."

"Thanks. Oh, careful with your coffee." He hung up before John could ask him what the hell that met, leaving him glaring at the phone. Bastard loved to be cryptic.

*

Reg considered finding Henry and telling him where he was going, but it was never a good idea to disturb Henry when he was in the maze and trying to remember something. He'd probably be back before he emerged anyway. He headed down to the next level - the basement - and moseyed to Zelda's office. He was man enough to admit he was dragging his feet. Bad news was never pleasant to give. He just thanked his stars, not for the first time, that he was surrounded by people who believed him instead of locking him up. He reached her door, paused, and knocked.

"Come in!" she yelled back. He opened the door and was greeted with heavy metal music, which she paused mid-verse just as he walked it. Zelda had a wall of computer monitors over her desk-- it looked like the bridge of the Enterprise, or a casino's security room. "One sec," she said, while he studied the back of her head. Her curly hair was purple this week. It had been green the last time he'd seen her. He had no idea how it didn't all fall out considering how much she dyed it. She had on a very Edwardian looking corset in a matching color, over a gray dress, combat boots and tights right out of the Wizard of Oz. She was like the anti-Byrne, making up for his refusal to wear anything other than a black suit. She swung her chair around, spinning once before facing him.

He smiled faintly. He’d known Zelda from back in the SHEILD days—they had no compunction about hiring a teenager. He’d all but watched her grow up, which made the moments he noticed how attractive she was kind of unsettling. He cleared his throat. "You got a minute? I have something important to tell you."

She smiled. "That I do." She hopped up and went over to her couch. "Please tell me someone's not going to hit my car again. I had to get the side panel shipped from Italy."

"No. Your car is fine." He took a seat on the couch and paused. "Did you hear about the woman they found a couple days ago? On the Mall?"

"I don't watch the news. It's all depressing."

He sighed. "They found a woman murdered and dumped on the lawn across from the Air & Space Museum. It was the work of a serial killer, just starting up in this area. She was his first victim." He paused again. Better to just say it, right? Rip the Band-Aid off. "Fred tells me that you're going to be his third."

She just stared at him. "What?"

He knew she appreciated honesty, sometimes to the point of bluntness. So that's what he went with. "You're going to be murdered. Unless we as a team can do something to stop it."

Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled for words, then she finally swallowed and asked, "When?"

"I don't know exactly. I don't have a date or time. Sometime after they find the second victim. You are safe until then, but I don’t know when that will be, and then it’s anytime after. I hope you're not angry but I told Doc and Byrne first. They're already working on finding the guy and getting you a bodyguard."

"Fred," she said firmly, talking to the middle of his forehead. Zelda was the only person he knew who would address remarks directly to Fred. "You have to tell me when."

He glanced upwards but got only silence. "I don't think he really knows, hon. Sometimes events have enough variables to them that he can't pin it down. Ask Byrne about the earthquake warnings sometime."

"This isn't a natural disaster, it's a human action."

"And therefore even more unpredictable." She didn't look very mollified. He spread his hands. "I can't actually poke him with a Q-tip and make him answer, Zel."

She sighed. "I've tried to cultivate a positive relationship with him."

"And he appreciates that. I promise you he and I are telling you everything we can. When we know more we'll tell you. But like it or not he's not omniscient. He doesn't know everything and what he does know has to be filtered through all the other stuff he's getting. The signal to noise ratio is terrible for precogs. It's what drives us nuts."

She patted his knee. "I like that you're not nuts."

He grinned. "It's a plus for me, too, most days." He rubbed her shoulder. "He said it was changeable. So we're going to change it. I promise."

"Does he know where?"

"He said he picked you up outside. Whether that's outside your house or here, or even a grocery store or something I don't know."

She looked down, studying her boots. "I'm a little afraid to leave the building."

"Doc said she'd get you a bodyguard. Not a lot we can do officially, but that she did promise."

She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. "It's not going to be Byrne, is it?"

"I doubt it. She didn't say who."

"I find him scary. I'd hate to have him. . . lurking behind me all the time."

Reg chuckled. "He's not as bad as most people think. He just has his demons, like the rest of us." He smiled. "Make you feel better to know he's going to spill his coffee on his nice white shirt any minute now?"

"Amazingly, yes."

"We're all human. Most of the time."

She wrapped her arms around herself. "Can we stop him before he kills the other woman?"

He tilted his head, mentally poking Fred. He couldn't describe what talking to Fred was like. Despite having his own name and personality he was just another facet of Reg's mind. He simply thought and Fred answered. Or didn't, depending on his mood. He'd actually been pretty quiet the last day or two. Still, didn't hurt to ask.

_Not. Omniscient._ Came the sharp reply. Someone was in a mood.

Zelda was patiently waiting for a response. Reg decided to translate a bit. "He doesn't have a clear read on her, yet. Henry's trying to find a newspaper he looked at five years ago. And we have his picture being compared to known killers. Once we know more we'll know how to proceed."

She was quiet for another moment. "Did he tell you. . . how?"

"We didn't get into specifics. There's some information in the papers."

She shook her head. "I don't think I want to know."

_Oh, she really doesn't._

Reg made an effort not to look up. Zelda seemed to notice that meant Fred was talking. "Probably not. I know I wouldn't."

"Maybe I should leave. Go visit my parents."

Reg considered a moment, then shook his head. "No guarantee that will help. I just know it's outside, not where, remember? Who's to say he's not on the move and going elsewhere is what puts you in his path? Better to stay here and let us close ranks to keep you safe."

"I could sleep in my office. I'm giving that serious thought right now."

He laughed softly. "Why don't we go talk to Doc? See who she has in mind for the bodyguard. And remember, you have some time. It won't be in the next few days. Not until there's another victim."

"I could get a futon."

"Wouldn't be very comfortable."  
She leaned forward and put her head in her hands. "Better than being dead."

He rubbed her back in small, soothing circles. "I'm not going to tell you not to hide out here. It's a perfectly valid response. But once we know who we're dealing with you may feel better working with us to stop him. It'll at least keep you from thinking about it all the time. Which you know you will."

"That or calculate Pi."

"How far are you on that, anyway?"

"Four hundred seventy thousand places."

He whistled. "Wow. I know it starts with a 3."

"Three point one four one."

"Right. I recall you bringing pie in March."

She smiled, and he was glad to see it. "March 14th is Pi day."

"I remember things that involve food. Men and their stomachs, you know."

”I do know that, particularly you.”

He put an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "It'll be okay. We'll take care of you."

*

John was coming out of the bathroom after trying to get the coffee stain out of his shirt when Carmine caught him. "Get to Doc's office. Henry figured out who the killer is and Reg is bringing Zelda up to get her bodyguard." She frowned at his shirt. "Do you want me send someone to your house and get a new one?"

He sighed. "Thank you, but no. No one here cares but me."

She gave him a sympathetic look. "Let me know if you change your mind."

"Can you grab me my jacket? I'll just put it on."

"I'll meet you at Doc's with it," she said, hurrying off.

"Thanks," he called after her, blotting uselessly at his shirt. He'd been warned and everything.

He ran into Reg and Zelda on his way to Doc's office. Reg glanced at his shirt but didn't comment. John just shook his head. Carmine appeared at the door with his jacket, and then they went into inside. John sat, so did Zelda-- who he couldn't bring himself to look in the eye. Reg stood. "Okay, who's our bad guy?" John asked.

Doc held a file out to him. "Charles Kincaid. He was active in New York about five years ago. Killed eight women that time around. Notes and papers found at his base of operations indicated he had his eye on about about a dozen more. Detectives had a lot of trouble with his MO. He planned some of his victims, others were crimes of opportunity. Preferred victims were female, mid-twenties to early thirties. Most were brunette. Other than that not much to go on."

He opened it up. "They couldn't catch him?" He stopped at a particular page indicating they did catch him. He frowned. "He's dead." He held up one of the papers. "This is an autopsy report."

"We noticed," Doc said dryly.

"Hey," Zelda said. "I remember that guy. Isn't he the one who kidnapped one of the detectives chasing him? And then ended up beaten to death in police custody?"

"Looks like," Doc said.

"Tabitha MacAllister," John said, reading from the file. "Oh she was. . . I remember that." He looked up at Doc. "She's from the New York vadasz pack. You were worried her family going nuts and outing us all. I am not surprised this guy died in custody _at_ all."

Doc nodded. "It was a huge mess. I kept my finger on it from beginning to end, waiting for one of them to step out of line. Two cops were accused and even confessed but there was little evidence, lots of politics and finger pointing. The confessions got thrown out, there was public outcry on both sides. In the end they were acquitted but fired without pensions. The department covered it up as much as possible and pretended it didn't happen they way everyone remembers it did. If this is the guy I am suddenly very interested."

John realized Reg was leaning over his shoulder and shifted so he could see the attached mug shot. Reg made a noise in this throat. "That's him, that's the guy in the vision. He's a tad greyer now, maybe, but still him." He straightened. "I remember reading some of it when we were watching it. The MO with the girl on the lawn is similar."

Zelda peered at the picture and shuddered. "Can I have a gun permit?"

"You can't shoot," John said.

"I can learn."

"You're just as likely to get yourself killed,” he told her gently. “We'll get you protection." He looked up at Doc. "Sol?"

Her mouth quirked. "No, he’s got a full plate already. And you know how he feels about having to go out beneath the burning death star in the sky." Sol Marquez, their head of security, was a vadasz, and they were not fond of the sun. 

“Can I borrow an Iron Man suit?” Zelda tried. “I know there’s a lady version, I’ve seen it.”

“That belongs to his wife, he wouldn’t share.” Doc was friends with Tony Stark because that was Doc.

“I know IQ could build one.”

“They cost 37 million dollars,” Doc replied. She hit a button on her phone. "Come in, please.”

“I can get $37 mil,” Zelda insisted.

Her door opened and a lanky man in his early twenties came in. He was dressed in all black, with a leather jacket. He closed the door and leaned against it. 

John raised an eyebrow. Winchester Kane, one of their youngest recruits. On a talent hunt in the early days, they had unearthed a couple of SHIELD/Hydra alums who were training teenagers to be assassins, like some modern day Red Room. Winchester had been their most advanced subject. He was also a foster kid with nowhere to go, so Doc took him home and eventually practically adopted him. When he finally joined Adams, they all made a lot of jokes about nepotism.

For some reason, he rubbed John the wrong way. But he was lethal with a blade, gun, even his hands. There were worse bodyguards.

All he said was, "Kincaid was big and strong enough to overpower a vadasz."

"According to the reports she was taken by surprise and unarmed. Winchester will be on alert and--"

"I am always armed," he finished.

Doc gave him an exasperated look that was in fact motherly. For Doc, anyway. "Indeed." She looked at John. "He's highly trained with firearms and blades as well as hand-to-hand combat. He's a gamma level telepath and a delta level telekinetic. He's also new on the team and unassigned. He could use the experience in the field. Sol will do second shift if Winchester needs a break of any sort." She looked at Zelda. "Are you comfortable with Winchester or would you prefer another bodyguard?"

Zelda looked up at him a moment."I like Winchester," she said finally.

Doc nodded. "Good. He'll go home with you tonight to set up any security you need. We'll assume you're as safe as you can be here." She held a hand up to Reg, who was opening his mouth. "I know, I know. Fred said she was taken outside. That could mean her front or backyard. We want as secure a perimeter as possible at all times. Two safe places are better than one." She looked back at Zelda. "Winchester will be your shadow until this is resolved. He isn't Secret Service, he won't be blending in. If you don't see him then you find him. You are not to leave this building without him, or his permission and a suitable escort. Understood?"

"Of all my many failings, stupidity has not ever, ever been one of them."

That got a thin smile. Doc's smiles rarely reached her eyes. "Good." She addressed John again. "With Kincaid's history this got more interesting but I still don't have enough to make it official business. Serial killers are not threats to the country. However I am making it known that anyone willing and able to help should report to you. Use them if you need them. I will keep as much as I can off your desk until this is over. Keep me in the loop."

"Thank you," Zelda said, before he could answer. "Everyone. Really."

Reg patted her shoulder. "We take care of our own."

Doc nodded. "Exactly."

John stood. "I'll get on it. Maybe I should go talk to Ms. MacAllister."

She tilted her head. "It would be a good place to start. She's vadasz; she may have picked up on something. Just watch what you say, she's not one of our contacts, so she has no clearance."

"Am I ever not careful?"

She smiled. "Of course not, but it's my job to remind you."

"I know. Are we good, then?"

"As far as I'm concerned. Good luck.”


	4. Chapter 4

Tabitha lived a mostly nocturnal life. Her job as an editor at a boutique erotica publisher was fairly flexible. Sifting through and critiquing manuscripts could be done at any time of day. She woke up in the late afternoon, when the sun was low but not quite set yet. A combination of blackout curtains and tree cover kept the house pleasantly dim. She worked into the wee hours of the night-- long after Tove had gone to sleep-- and went to bed around dawn. It was a schedule that worked for her, allowed her to be a part of the world in some ways - she went to late movies and frequented 24 hour grocery stores - but kept her safe from sunburns and blindness. Her power was so strong that the usual vadasz sensitivity to sunlight manifested as a near complete intolerance. Tove had to be awake to talk to people, either through email or phone, so she kept a more normal schedule, though a bit skewed as most of her clients were on the west coast.

At the moment, Tabby was in the middle of a dream about running in the Rocky Mountains, when knocking on her door woke her up. She lifted her head and glared at the door. "What?"

"We've got guests," Tove called.

Tabby ran a hand over her face and sat up. "Who?"

"I think to see you. They're pretty hard to read. Man and a woman. The woman doesn't want to come in because she thinks the house is old. . . something about the civil war. They're coming up the drive." Tove could hear the thoughts of people at a very long range. It part of why they lived out in the middle of nowhere. But it was handy at certain times.

"Right. Thanks. I'll get dressed." She pulled on the jeans she'd worn the night before. "Is there coffee?"

"I put some on."

"Thank you." She slid on a tank top and an oversized sweatshirt and was gathering her hair into a ponytail when the doorbell rang. Tabby headed downstairs, succeeding in getting her hair back. She kept a pair of dark sunglasses by the door and put them on as she pulled back the curtain on the window beside the door. She peered out at the tall man in a dark suit and the petite redheaded woman in jeans and a sweater and shook her head. "Are the Jehovah's Witnesses and the Girl Scouts joining forces now?"

"They're Feds," Tove replied. "Want me to freak them out?"

She stepped back. "Well, let's see what they want first."

Tove shrugged, and went over to open the door. "Can I help you?"

The redhead spoke. "We're looking for Tabitha MacAllister. Is she in?"

"May I ask who this is?

"I'm Agent Price. This is Agent Byrne. We're with the FBI." She held out a badge.

"I'm Tove." She pulled open the door and stepped back. "Come in. The house is only 10 years old, by the way."

Price looked at her sharply as they stepped inside. Tabby hung out in the shadows by the living room. "I'm Tabitha MacAllister," she said. "Can I see your ID?" Price handed it over and she studied it. She hadn’t seen an FBI badge in a long time, but looked legit. She handed it back. "Thanks. Former cop, old habits die hard." She looked from one to the other. "What can I do for you?"

"We've come to talk to you about Charles Kincaid."

Tabby arched a brow slowly, looking at them both a long moment. She waited for the shiver of dread, the pulse of adrenaline that she usually associated with a mention of Kincaid. Instead she felt a pit in her stomach she couldn’t explain. "Right. Well. I need coffee for that." She turned and headed through the living room, towards the kitchen. "Come have a seat. Coffee?"

"Yes, thank you," Byrne said.

She glanced back. She hadn't actually expected them to accept. "Black?"

"That's fine. She'll have milk and half a cup of sugar."

Tabby laughed at that. "Girl after my own taste," she murmured, heading into the kitchen. She fixed her coffee and one for Agent Price, both sweet and white. She poured a mugs for Byrne and Tove then went back to the living room where she'd left them sitting. Price was studying the dark drapes that covered every window with interest. Tabby put the tray down, took her mug and sat in a heavy leather arm chair. "So. Charles Kincaid is dead," she said carefully. "Why do you want to bring up ancient history?"

Byrne sighed, looking like he'd just realized he had to say something he didn't want to. Tove dropped her mug and the ceramic shattered on the floor. Everyone turned to look at her and she stared back at them in horror. "That can't possibly be true." She looked at Tabby, then back at the two of them. "Get out, both of you, get out right now." 

Tabby sighed softly, a long held suspicion suddenly confirmed. It didn’t help the pit in her stomach any, though. She took a sip of her coffee, then set it down of the coffee table and picked up a napkin to go clean up the mess. "He's not dead, is he? He faked his death."

"That would appear the case." He looked at Tove. "You're a telepath." She frowned at him, and opened her mouth, but he inclined his head, and all the little pieces of broken ceramic began lifting up off the floor, hovering in a nice, neat pile in the air between her and Tabby. "Trashcan?" 

Tabby gestured with her chin. "Other side of the couch." She tossed the napkin over the spilled coffee. "I've heard rumors in my family about a psychic department somewhere the government, but I was never sure I believed it."

"I really can't confirm or deny that. But your friend was very obviously in my head, so why not share?."

"You think loud," Tove replied.

Price snorted at that one. Tabby went back to her chair. "I presume you know what I am?"

"We do."

She sipped her coffee again. "I suspected since the beginning that Kincaid was alive. No one was interested in the opinion of the traumatized last victim, so I kept my mouth shut. But I knew he was capable of it. I don't know why-" She stopped and looked at them sharply. "The girl on the lawn. That was him, wasn't it?"

"Yes. She is why we're here."

Tabby looked over at Tove. "I suppose that means my instincts are still working."

"We'd like to ask you some questions, and hope you can assist us in finding him." Price’s voice was gentle and coaxing. She was very good at this Good Cop thing.

She sighed softly. "Kincaid was a long time ago. I don't know if I can help you. I didn't, technically, find him the first time."

"You did chase him for a long time."

"So long I got on TV and caught his eye.” Tabby waved a hand in a helpless gesture, as if to brush away memories half a decade old. “He was inscrutable. No method to choosing his victims. He changed locations, had several hideouts. He had money, an inheritance, though I doubt he still has access to it, being dead and all. He rented several places - commercial and residential - to use as killing floors. It took weeks to find all of them and some in the department – including my old partner - aren't convinced they've all been accounted for. You can look for recently rented buildings that haven't opened up or have obvious tenants. As I said, the inheritance money is gone but he was a very charming and persuasive man when he needed to be. I have no doubt he could have found new resources."

Byrne pulled out a notepad from somewhere and made some notes, and she watched him. He really was like a walking stereotype. Like a movie actor _playing_ a Fed. Black suit, black tie, buzz cut, perfectly put together. And too good looking for government work.

Price wrinkled her nose and it occurred to Tabby she was probably staring. She gave herself a little shake and got back to the topic at hand. "That's as far as we got, we were researching that when I was abducted."

"Would you be willing to help us with the investigation?" he asked.

She paused, bought some time sipping her coffee. Memories tugged at her, both good and bad. She'd enjoyed being a detective. It was slow and methodical but it was a hunt of a kind. Putting pieces together, following leads like they were scents on the forest floor. There had been a thrill to it, especially when all the puzzle pieces had come together and she'd found her man. It was almost never as exciting and convoluted at is was on TV, but it was still fascinating. And in the end it had found her chained to a cold cement floor at the mercy of a madman. 

Behind her Tove mad a noise, obviously eavesdropping. Tabby shook herself and sighed. "I'd really prefer not to. Kincaid was a long time ago. A really bad time, one I've spent five years finding my way back from. I'm finally better. I'm not perfect, not who I once was, but I can smile at people in the grocery store and chat with neighbors. I pass for normal. I'm thinking of going on vacation in a few months. I don't want to go back to that time. I see no reason to. I'm not a cop anymore."

He looked over at Price, who nodded. "All right," he said. "We'll be in touch with your old department, and see what help they can provide."

She nodded. "Thank you for understanding." She got to her feet. "I wish you luck. And I'll tell you one more thing, since you'll appreciate it. He has powers. Some form of telepathy. I don't know the extent, he was never able to pierce my shields, but you should be careful."

"We will. Thank you."

She walked them to the foyer and shook their hands. Vadasz went a lot on scent. Price had a fresh earthy scent to her. Byrne's scent was. . . intriguing. Tabby had to stop herself from leaning in to get a better sniff. As it was she held his hand a moment too long. "It was nice meeting you," she said quietly.

He surprised her by smiling. It changed his whole face. He looked at her like nothing else in the world existed, for just a moment. "You, too."

She smiled widely at that, letting go of his hand and stepping back quickly as he opened the door. Maybe it _would_ be worth digging up the past if she got to see him some more.

They both said goodbye to Tove, and then they left. Tabby and Tove stood by the door and watched them leave. "She's an empath," Tove said. "She told him not to push you."

Tabby nodded. "I suspected that or telepath. This was a strange way to start my day."

"You're telling me."

"Think that's the last of them?"

"Not in the least."

"He was nice to look at, at least." Tabby shrugged. "I'm going to go shower."

"You feel like some eggs? I'm hungry."

"Eggs would be divine. Make mine extra runny."

Tove smiled. "Coming right up."

They were silent as John wound his way out of her neighborhood, heading for 267 to get them back to Arlington. He could sense Jordan wanting to say something, but she'd apparently decided to restrain herself. She cleared her throat. "Not as helpful as we'd hoped."

"You're the one who said not to push."

"And I stand by it. At least this way if we had more questions she might be willing to talk to us again." She glanced at him. "Especially if you were the one asking."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she thought you were, oh my God, so hot." She fanned herself with a hand, batting her eyelashes.

It took a real effort not to smile at that. “Really? I figured the blonde woman was her girlfriend.”

“Nope. That’s platonic and is definitely into you. Especially at the end there. It was adolescent level. I think her nose twitched. Maybe you smell good. Sol's always talking about women's scents." She glanced at him. "You can smile. I can _feel_ the glee coming off you."

"I miss a time in my life when I had secrets."

"Well, the blonde was right. You're loud. Not often, but when you feel something _boy_ do you feel it. Which is kind of funny with how contained you are otherwise."

"Well," he said slowly. "She's a very attractive woman."

"I'm sure she is. If you go for the mysterious femme fatale with big breasts."

"As it happens, I do."

She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "You wanna turn her around and ask her to dinner and sex? I'll wait in the car."

A tempting thought. A corner of his mouth lifted, and she made a face. "Sorry," he said. "Don't bait me if you don't want me to accidentally bathe you in lusty feelings."

She laughed. "Oh, but I enjoy baiting you so."

He watched the road for a few moments. "I was just wondering, do you think this is some sort of paradox? Like the reason he goes after Zelda is because we're chasing him. Like by seeing the vision Fred _made_ the vision? Kincaid did go after the last person that chased him." 

Jordan shrugged. "From what she said he went after her because he saw her on television. The case was very publicized, lots of media frenzy. None of that is true here." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I know you don't like him, but second-guessing Reg is doesn't seem like a good idea. Best case you'll just drive yourself nuts with paradoxes and circular arguments."

"I never said I didn't like him."

"Please, you don't have to."

He sighed. "Yeah, well. I have my reasons." Five years ago, John's former partner had been killed. Reg had known about it beforehand, and warned no one. 

Jordan leaned her head back against the seat. He braced himself for the lecture that seemed to be coming. Instead she just said, "Right. Well, the vision is what it is. At least she told us something. Doc will be interested that he's enhanced."

"I can't say I'm surprised."

She glanced at him. "You suspected he had powers?"

"It takes a certain skill to fake your death."

"Good point. Do you think that makes it easier or harder to find him?"

"I don't know. Have we ever hunted a telepath before? I mean, one that’s trying to hide. I don't think we have." If they were looking for people, it was someone they were trying to recruit—or someone they would like to sit down and shut up so they didn’t all end up on the news.

"Not that I recall. We should ask Doc."

He took a hand off the wheel to rub the bridge of his nose. "Maybe I'll call Tabitha again later in the week and lean on her.”

Jordan's mouth twitched a bit, but she managed to restrain herself. "Have you given any thought to if she's in danger?"

"It's occurred to me. I don't think serial killers like letting one get away. Then again, he hasn't come after her in all this time. . . maybe he's no longer interested."

"It's still a hell of a coincidence. She moved here a couple of years back and this is where he starts up again." She paused. "At least she's warned, now."

"You think he's after her? Maybe trying to bait her and draw her out?"

Jordan shrugged. "I'm not a profiler or particularly familiar with the mindset of a serial killer. But it's not like she's hiding out here. I'm sure there's ways for a resourceful civilian to find her. House sale records, yellow pages dot com. Maybe he's trying to draw her out. Maybe he just couldn't wait to kill someone again. I think it's worth considering, though."

"I hate to pull even more people into this, and tell more of them Zelda's business, but having Robin draw up a profile might not be a bad idea." Robin Gaffney was their team psychiatrist. She seemed to spend most of her time sorting the truly mentally ill from the misdiagnosed psychic. Nearly all of them would look, on the surface, like some sort of schizophrenic. It was not uncommon to have picked up the label at some point in their lives, unless you were solidly generational like precogs and vadasz tended to be.

"I think it's worth asking her. Most of the work is done for her in his file. And it will give her something new to look at."

"She's profiled for us before. I think she's pretty good at it. Certainly she'd be the only person who could properly profile a telepathic serial killer.”

"I think she's good at it, too. And I think she enjoys it. So don't feel bad about asking her."

He smiled a little. "You know, people like me better when I have you to tell me beforehand if I'm going to piss them off."

She grinned. "Well, that's why you love and adore me and would be lost without me."

"You know that's true."

"It's the only reason I stick around, really." 

He glanced over at her. Living among people, coming to an office, trying to have a life was a difficult task for an empath as strong as Jordan. She’d been at the end of her rope when Luca died, with one foot out the door. She’d stayed because he’d asked her to. “I know. Thank you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Zelda could read patterns in anything. It was a strange power to have, with not a lot of non-military use before the computer age. The timing of her birth had been excellent, and her particular number-based specialty had made her a whole lot of money. But she could still find patterns in all sorts of everyday things, so she had spent the entire day poring over Kincaid's files, looking for a pattern--any pattern-- that others had missed. Surely if she could find the code that would unlock his thinking, they could find him, stop him. But she had nothing. It was completely random. She heard a noise at the door and jumped-- because now she was jumpy-- but it was just Jordan. She watched the other woman eye the papers she had taped all over her walls, covered in tacks and connected by pieces of string. "Hey. You guys have any luck?"

"Not as much as we'd hoped. Ms. MacAllister wasn't inclined to join the investigation. She gave us some good info, though. Turns out Kincaid is a telepath."

"She wouldn't help?"

Jordan gingerly leaned a hip on a table. "Not really, no. Byrne said he might call her later in the week and push her. . . but I don't know if it will go well. She didn't like having those memories dug up."

"How much did you tell her? Also, Byrne is going to push her? He couldn't negotiate with a tree stump. Byrne gives orders."

Jordan sighed. "He wouldn't tell her very much. Just that we were investigating him. He wasn't even going to tell her he was alive, but her roommate is a telepath and picked it up. She ended up suspicious of us as it is; she's not a stupid woman, nor easy to fool. I don't think he'll get much more out of her without telling her more. But she thought he was hot, so who knows?"

"Well. . . even I have to give him that. Assuming that's your type."

Jordan laughed. "Well, he was certainly hers. When we said goodbye she looked like she wanted to lick him."

"Awesome. I'm going to die and Byrne's going to get laid. I bet Fred's really amused by this."

"He's giving Robin the files for her to work up a profile. We're doing everything we can." She pointed to the papers on the wall. “What’s with the John Nash routine?”

"I'm looking for patterns." She gestured at it. "There's none. It's truly random. Mathematically. If they were all completely different, that in and of itself would be a pattern. The lack of repetition. Like Pi. And any commonalities are inconsistent, and entirely mundane things." 

Jordan tilted her head. "Like what?"

"Hair color for some, age for others, stuff like that. Never all of them. It really is like if you threw a dart at a phone book. Maybe he did. Though, who has phone books anymore?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if one of the weirdoes we know does." Jordan looked at Zelda's notes. "That is odd, though. I always thought serial killers had some pattern, once you looked at them all together."

"Yes. It's why I was looking for the Pi thing. I thought maybe he liked randomness. But I see nothing. And I could make an equation about the pattern of your wardrobe rotation. If there's a pattern, I find it." 

"I believe you. You're very smart. My wardrobe has a pattern?" 

“Tomorrow you’re going to wear green shoes.”

She shook her head, and looked at the papers again. When she spoke again there was something different in her tone. "It's really too bad Byrne won't be more upfront with the MacAllister woman. I feel like she has a lot of honor. If she knew we were trying to save a friend she'd probably put her demons aside." She sighed dramatically. "But he would never approve that."

Zelda smiled a little. "No. He never would."

Jordan glanced at her. "If someone did want to talk to her they'd want to go after dark. She didn't like being woken up."

"I'm sure that information will be useful to someone," Zelda said carefully.

"Good, good. Well, I better get back to my official work. I'll leave you to your patterns."

"Thanks. I'll see you later." She made herself wait until Jordan had been gone long enough to get to the elevator, before leaping up and bolting down the hall and up the stairs. She burst into the records room without knocking. "Reg? You in here?"

"In the back, hang on." He met her in the stacks. "What's up?"

"I need your help."

His brow furrowed. "With what?"

"We have to go see Tabitha MacAllister."

"I thought Byrne and Jordan were going out there today. Did they decide not to?"

"They did. She said no. Because they asked her to help with a government investigation. I need to ask her if she'll help save my life."

Reg blinked down at her a moment, then put a hand over his eyes. "Is this one of those things that if I ask more questions I'll just regret it?"

"Probably. Please come. I can’t go alone but I don't want to take Winchester. I’ll go ask him if it’s all right. We're going to be in a car and you're an imposing dude, at least from a distance. Plus you said I’m safe until after the second victim. Is that still true?"

“Yes.” He sighed. "Only for you would I face the wrath of both Byrne and Doc. Go talk to Winchester. I'll get my coat." He disappeared back into stacks. 

She was waiting for him near reception five minutes later. “Winchester said to take good care of me.” She threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you."

He hugged her, patting her back. "You're welcome."

She grinned. "You can drive my car if you want."

That got a little smile. "You know how to tempt me."

She dangled out the keys. After SHIELD fell, Zelda took a detour through Silicon Valley and like many a young engineer who caught an IPO, she'd bought a Ferrari. Many people wanted to take it for a test drive. Few succeeded.

He snatched the keys from her and they headed out to the parking lot. "You know where we're going, right?"

"I put it in my phone."

"Good." He took about five minutes to readjust the seat when they reached her car, then they climbed in and were on their way. "You think she'll agree once she knows it's personal?"

"I don't know. But I need to know I tried."

*

Tabby was picking her way through a terrible manuscript with a heroine who was certifiably Too Stupid To Live when Tove's voice drifted into her mind. _We have guests. Again._

_Seriously? Same ones or fresh meat?_

_New ones. Even weirder. In a loud red sports car. I could swear I hear three of them, but I don't think there's space in there for more than. . .Yeah, definitely only two, they're getting out of the car. One of them thinks so fast it's like a high pitched buzz. It really hurts, actually. Could you block them?_ Vadasz could wall out telepaths. Tabby had discovered they could also wall them in, if she was close enough. It was actually the only way Tove was capable of leaving the property.

Tabby got up from her computer, putting walls around Tove, constructing them carefully but quickly. _Stay up here, then, a little distance will make it easier to block._ She headed for the stairs. _You'll still be able to listen in._ The bell rang as she reached the foyer. It was dark enough she could open the door herself.

There was a tall, burly man in a black trench coat, and a purple-haired woman in a leather duster straight out of the old west. She had a ballpoint pen sticking out of her bun. This pair did not look like Feds from Central Casting. Unless perhaps you were casting something out of a graphic novel. "Hi," the woman said. "Are you Tabitha?" 

"I am. I appear to be popular today." She held the door open. "Come in. I assume you two are the good cops?"

"We're actually not usually out of the building. Theoretically Byrne and Jordan are the bad and good cop. I think it should be obvious who is who." She held out her hand. "I'm Zelda Churchill. This is Reg Montrichard. Is there any way we could talk?"

She shook their hands. Reg smelled of well worn leather and summer evening on the porch. Zelda was a strange mix of tropical plants and electronic ozone. Somehow it worked. "As it happens you're saving me from some truly terrible plot development. Please, come in and make your case."

They took their coats off and sat down. Tabby was amused to note Zelda certainly dressed like someone with purple hair. The sat on the couch and he draped his arm across the back, not touching her, but only just barely. Tabby's nose twitched. They didn't smell like lovers, but there was certainly. . . something there. "Byrne is very cagey," Zelda was saying. "He's big into procedures and need-to-know. Jordan didn't want him to push you, and I'm not here to push. I'm here to share all the facts with you. This is far more than your standard investigation. This is a personal endeavor for all of us."

Tabby leaned back in her leather chair, watching them both. "I can’t say I’m surprised. Kincaid's a son of a bitch but not generally of interest to shadowy government organizations. Personal is the only thing that makes sense. Whom has he killed that got you all riled up?"

She glanced at Reg, then back at Tabby. "No one yet. But if he's not caught first, he's going to kill me."

She leaned forward. "How could you possibly know that?"

Reg cleared his throat. "I'm a pre-cognitive," he said, voice dripping in southern drawl.

Tabby arched a brow. She’d never met one, but she’d certainly heard about them. Vadasz packs collected information on other types of enhanced. They were suspicious as a general rule and made a point to know everything they could about potential enemies. Other psychics were generally considered the group most likely to be a threat. That mainly applied to telekinetics and telepaths, though. Everything she’d ever heard about pre-cogs them was pretty tragic. "You seem remarkably sane for a pre-cog."

_The inside of his head isn't,_ Tove commented from wherever in the house she was. _It's like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange in there._

Reg was explaining something about cordoning off his powers and them being filtered through a second personality. Tabby cut him off. "I follow you. And my roommate upstairs says she can hear your little friend. At first she thought there were three of you."

The man paled. "She can hear Fred?"

"Not currently, I'm blocking her. Ms. Churchill buzzes too much for her taste. But she got a glimpse of . . . you named it?"

"I have to call him something," he said almost primly. "But no one's ever heard him but me. And I work with a lot of psychics."

Tove appeared in the doorway, curiosity having gotten the better of her, apparently. She didn't come any closer than the door, though. She looked at Zelda. "Could you stop. . .counting? It was like an avalanche of numbers at an astonishingly high speed."

"I'm calculating Pi. It slows down if I concentrate on it." She frowned a moment, and then nodded.

"Let it up, please," Tove said to Tabby, and she complied.

Tove tilted her head as if she was listening to something. "I get this cacophony of noise. All in the same voice. Predictions I guess. Some of them aren't even fully formed. You'll be stuck in traffic tonight. Ten years from now you buy a Stark sports car. In two weeks your mother ruins her favorite cast iron pan."

Reg winced and looked upwards. "Wow. He's pissed you can hear him. That's really strange."

"I hear everything," Tove said. "Don't take it personally. I can hear him thinking and talking to you. He has quite a mouth on him." She paused and half smiled. Tabby had the feeling Fred had had something to say about that. "It's funny," Tove said. "I've known a lot of actual insane people, who thought they had another person in their head. I have never actually heard one. He's got his own thoughts, aside from the noise. It's amazing . .and giving me a headache. You don't hear all the noise?"

He shook his head. "He filters what he tells me. Keeps me sane, but sometimes he doesn't tell me everything, or the whole story. It's a trade off. What you’re hearing is what it’s like to be a pre-cog. It’s why we go crazy."

She shook her head, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. "Tabby, put the walls back up," she choked.

She put the walls up quickly. Reg half stood. "Are you all right?"

Tove looked Tabby. "You have to help them," she said. "You have to stop him."

Zelda sat back. "It was about me? About Kincaid?"

She nodded. "You don't want to know."

"I don't."

Tabby looked from Tove to Zelda and back again. She'd meant what she'd told the first two. She didn't want to go back to that place and time. She didn't want to climb back into Kincaid's head. But more importantly she didn't want to be responsible for another woman being killed. Certainly not one she'd just looked in the eye. She sighed deeply and saw Tove smile a little. "What do you need me to do?"

Zelda grinned and clapped her hands. "I haven't a clue. That's not my department. You're going to have to talk to Byrne for that. But, Dear God, thank you."

"I couldn't let him do to you what he wanted to do to me," she said quietly. She realized, oddly, that the pit in her stomach was gone. It had sat there all evening and now it was gone.

"Thank you," she replied. "I imagine this is hard and I truly appreciate it."

She didn't really think the woman in front of her had any idea how hard it was. She was too bright and full of life to have ever seen the bottom of the holes Tabby had been in. Even with a death sentence hanging over her head she was vibrant. "It's all right. Byrne didn't leave me a card or anything, so I can't call and tell him I've changed my mind. Do you want to tell him and get back to me?"

Zelda exchanged a glance with Reg. "We'll tell him."

Tabby watched them. "Oh. I see. He doesn't know you're here."

She sighed. "No. He doesn't. But it's my life on the line, so he and his procedure can suck it."

Tabby laughed. "And suddenly I like you more. Well, if there's anything I can do to make it easier. . ."

"I may give you a call. Especially if they yell."

"I'm very good at staring down yelling authority figures."

"I can see that about you." She stood up. "Thank you again."

Tabby got to her feet. "Stop thanking me. Really. You can thank me when you don't die." She winced at how harsh that sounded and added in a gentler tone, "I will do everything I can to help you, but I can't promise anything."

"Well, it makes me feel better, which is something at this particular juncture in my life. It was very nice to meet both of you."

"You too. I hope to hear from you soon." She walked them to the door. "If anyone else from your club is going to visit me tonight can they call ahead? I was hoping to go for a run later."

"We're it, I promise." They all shook hands and finally she closed the door behind them. 

Tove came quietly into the hallway. "The. . .Fred. . .knows more than they think."

Tabby looked back at her. "He said it filters for him. You said he was basically a different person in his head. I'm not at all surprised."

"I'm sure he didn't want to see the details. He's tremendously worried about her as it is. I didn't want to know the details and I don't even know her." She rubbed Tabby's arm. "Though I've sure seen enough of your dreams."

She patted Tove's hand. "What he did was nothing compared to what he had planned. I'm sorry about the dreams, though."

"They're well worth the silence I get when you're awake," she said with a smile.

"That's good. This has been an interesting day." She smiled suddenly. "But hey, I get to see Hottie McDarksuit again."

"Are you going to lick him this time?"

She laughed, heading towards the kitchen, Tove trailing her. "Maybe. If the opportunity presents itself. Are there cookies left?"


	6. Chapter 6

John glared at the people across his desk from him. Reg had insisted on standing, next to and slightly behind the chair Zelda had taken. He'd known when Carmine had told him they wanted to see him that it wasn't going to be good news. Now that they'd made their confession they were eyeing him, Zelda looking like a kid in trouble with the principal, Reg more impassive but braced. He decided to let them stew a moment more.

Finally he said, "So, to recap, you just shared classified information with a civilian."

"You'd already told her you were psychic," Reg pointed out. "We just gave her the real reason we were interested in Kincaid. And now she's agreed to help us. What were you planning on telling her if she got on board when you asked her?"

"I was going to have her cleared first."

"She was a cop for eleven years and she's a member of the New York pack, several members of which are aware of us. She was halfway to clearance as it is. We need this woman to help us find this guy. None of us have any kind of investigative experience."

"You went over my head without talking to me, and you," he said to Zelda, "Left without protection."

"I was with her," Reg offered. “She got approval from Winchester.”

"You can't just go gallivanting off and taking matters into your own hands," he growled. "There are appropriate ways to do this."

Reg opened his mouth, but Zelda spoke first. "You know what?" she said. "Fuck appropriate. Send me to jail. My _life_ is on the line. I'm sorry. I know you're my supervisor and I just cursed at you, but I don't feel like dying, and if your expectation is that I sit around and wait for appropriate procedure to be followed, seriously, Byrne, it's time for Gitmo."

"It's done, Byrne," Reg said quietly. "Neither of us has ever been in trouble with you before. This isn't part of a pattern of behavior. There were extenuating circumstances. You can keep yelling at us for something I'm pretty sure we'll never be in a position to do again or you can focus on what to do next."

John didn't particularly like that he was right, but he was. "You are _both_ coming with me while I explain this to Doc."

"I would expect nothing less," Reg drawled.

He stood up. "Don't try to bluff about Gitmo with her either. She could do it."

"Ah, but would she?" Zelda asked, getting to her feet.

"Doc is the only person alive who scares me."

Reg opened the door for them. "She'd probably be flattered by that."

John stopped in the doorway. "Did she seem reluctant?"

"Ms. MacAllister? Yes. But Zelda told her she was going to die and well, her blonde friend can hear Fred. He told her something that made her cry and she asked Tabitha to help. And then she agreed."

John stopped dead. "She can hear Fred? Tove? I thought no one could hear Fred?"

"So did I. Fred was _pissed._ And she heard all of him, not just the filter. All the things I don't hear, him talking to me, everything. Tabby had to block her."

"That's very bad. We cannot have her around you."

"Not unblocked, no. Aside from the very high likelihood she'd hear something she shouldn't it will, eventually, drive her nuts."

By this point John was more interested than angry about the previous circumstances. "My understanding from Robin is telepaths at that level do about as well as most pre-cogs. She seemed pretty normal to me. Though I now realize she commented on a conversation Jordan and I had while we were still out on the road. Quarter mile away maybe. That's one hell of a range."

Reg pointed at Zelda. "She could hear her working on pi. She asked Tabby to put the walls up. I'm guessing that's how she gets through any kind of normal interaction. You know how Sol is phenomenal at putting up walls and Tabby is stronger than him."

"I can't decide if I should tell Doc about her or not." 

"Up to you. I doubt she'd want to recruit her. A telepath of that power is more of a liability than an asset, in my opinion."

"Yeah. I think we all like some semblance of privacy."

"Especially Doc. One gets the feeling she knows some state secrets.”

Doc turned out a lot less angry that John was. She even agreed with Zelda about taking Reg instead of Winchester-- Winchester didn't do a lot for any "good cop" routine. Zelda agreed she really would not go anywhere alone. The meeting was. . . unsatisfactory.

Before they left Doc told him to get Tabitha in as soon as possible. "Have Carmine or Jordan do it if you're not comfortable. I know you're not exactly in personnel."

"I can do it," he said, surprised that made him feel defensive. And, actually, concerned she might force him to hand the task over. He'd been looking forward to calling her again. He'd really best not examine that. 

He thought she gave him a look, but when she spoke she sounded neutral. "Whatever works for you. Just get her up to speed as soon as possible."

"I will. And get her properly cleared."

She nodded. "Obviously."

"I'll keep you updated," he said as he opened the door.

"Thank you. Good luck."

He left Doc's office, and waved at Reg and Zelda as they headed down the stairs. He crossed the bullpen where most of their employees had cubes-- though it was rare more than a handful were actually in the office at any given time. At the far end was Robin Gaffney's office. She was two floors up and at the opposite end of the building as Zelda's, because like many strong telepaths she complained about the high-pitched buzzing noise apparently produced by the speed at which Zelda thought. He rapped on the door and waited for her to call him in.

She was seated behind her old fashioned, heavy wooden desk, files spread in front of her. She took off her reading glasses and gave him a smile when he came in. "Hello Byrne. What can I do for you?"

"Did you get the files on the profile we need?"

"I did. I'm looking them over now. Whoever did the one for NYPD half-assed it a bit, in my opinion, so I'm not going off it too much."

"I assume you heard the details of the whys on this? You may want to check in with Zelda. For obvious reasons, but she's also built this giant connections map on her wall looking for patterns. Maybe you can help her or she can help you."

"Mmm. I had been intending to go talk to her and see how she was handling her impending doom; that may be a good segue." She rummaged on her desk and held a folder out to him. "I cleared the MacAllister woman, by the way. Jordan handed it over yesterday."

He took it. "That was fast."

"I am a miracle worker, it's true. Got her police record and the paperwork from her retirement. She filed for disability after she left the force, but only took it for about a year before canceling it. Only thing I don't have is records from her private therapist. Jordan gave me her impressions, too. I also talked to one of her cousins in the pack that is a contact for us. I think it's a pretty complete picture.

John nodded. "She's stable. Everyone pays attention to the soldiers who come back from war broken, but there are still some of us who looked the reaper in the eye and wrestled away his scythe. To quote something Luca once said. About me, actually. But she's got it."

"Generally I agree. It looks like she had a bad couple years right after. But then she moved down here and seems to have put it all back together. I imagine this won't be any fun for her, but she should handle it fine, especially if she's still in contact with a therapist."

"Did you talk to her?"

"MacAllister? No. I was waiting for you to officially bring her in. Well, as officially as this gets."

"I will, I was just. . . was asking. Jesus." He rubbed his face. _Do I sound as much like an awkward teenager as I think do?_ It was instinct he started talking telepathically instead of out loud. He didn’t like discussing personal things.

Robin smiled warmly. Robin was about John's age and had been an Air Force therapist before being appropriated by Doc. John had always considered her to be the best kind of shrink. She listened intently, gave suggestions but never advice and had never, to his knowledge, asked anyone "how that made them feel." _Byrne, do you have a bit of a crush?_

There was no lying to a telepath. Or an empath. In a way, it was nice. Kept them all honest. Sometimes it was not quite as nice. _Crush is such a juvenile word._

_I'll give you that, however it does most clearly describe a particular emotion. Infatuation sounds a little stalker-ish._ She smiled again. _No, you don't sound like an awkward teenager. Though I'll admit it's personally kind of satisfying to know you're capable of being flustered._

That made him laugh. _It's nice to know Jordan doesn't gossip._

_Not about you, anyway._

He cleared his throat. "I think my notes should have made it into his file. . . Tabitha said he was enhanced. Telepath. How much should I worry about that?"

"I don't know yet. I want to talk to her about that. It's pretty rare, in my experience for a telepath to be violent. For now, be cautious. There's no reason to think he knows we're looking for him." She paused and looked at the files. "Huh. I wonder if that might be the key to his victims? If they had a connection he only knew about because of his powers."

"How do you find that information, though? Tracking down their families, I suppose. Doc's going to love that."

"We are trying to catch a killer. Interviewing victims’ families is a part of that. At least Tabitha will be able to relate to them."

He decided he was tired of standing and sat in one of her guest chairs. Quite possibly his favorite thing about Robin's office is she very deliberately didn't have a couch. Just armchairs. "I don't see why a telepath couldn't coincidentally be a sociopath as well."

She rocked back in his chair. "It's definitely possible. I've often wondered if some of the more famous killers had some kind of latent power. Manson, for example, seemed to have some kind of. . . preternatural charm I find hard to explain with mundane reasoning. Still, telepaths are usually like empaths in that they don't want to promote strong reactions in people. Most of us only hear things if we're reading someone or if someone has a particularly loud thought. I have to imagine torturing or killing someone would be like someone yelling things in your head. There wouldn't be much pleasure to it."

"Oh, I should tell you . . . you’d have to assess her, but I think Tabitha’s roommate is a genuine omega telepath.”

Robin's eyebrows arched. "And functional? What makes you think so?

"She could not only hear Fred, she could hear whatever Reg keeps walled off behind him."

Her eyes widened. "Good lord."

When Doc had started tracking down enhanced people, she had, at some point, decided they needed a classification system. Something to judge how dangerous they were, if they were worth pursuing or watching. That sort of thing. All of the SHEILD refugees had been adamant about not using the same numerical level system, so Doc decided on Greek letters. It ran from Alpha to Omega, from the weakest on up. Zelda found it hilariously funny and informed them all that they should Google it. John trusted Zelda on that stuff. Putting Alpha at bottom was a very Doc thing to do. Technically, John should be one, as telekinetics were ranked by how much they could lift. John couldn’t lift much weight at all, but he could move and rearrange individual grains of sand with such precision she’d decided he was just a category of his own. He was still the only occupant. No one really knew where he was on the scale. They’d assigned no one to classifications between Delta and Omega. It was an emblem of the chasm, of the difference between the two. The difference between a mainly normal life and not. Between having a gift and having something out of a comic book. Omegas, across the board, tended to be unstable. Many of them were not particularly sane. Many of them were dangerous.

“Her name is Tove,” John said. “We might want to get her clearance as well."

"I imagine she'd be helpful, yes. You can't bring her in here, though. Telepaths who work here sign a contract that says they won't read other people without express permission. If she does it unconsciously then we can't get her to agree to that."

"No, I mean I'm concerned about what she'll get off of Tabitha. Off of any of us who go there or have been there already." 

Robin frowned. "I don't follow."

"Tabitha walls out the world for her. I can only assume that she has to wall herself in. Not to mention that she has to sleep. Anything we tell Tabitha, this woman will know. I know she was reading us when Jordan and I were there, I just didn't realize how strong she was. I couldn't feel it, she didn't have to concentrate. I think she just hears. Literally like people hear sounds. Now I'm really worried now that I'm saying this out loud. You know how much classified information I know? Hell, I think I, personally, am classified. I know Reg is and she met him. I told them we were FBI and she didn’t call the lie, though."

"Ah. Well, get me her information and I'll see what I can do. In the meantime talk to Tabitha about blocking anytime you're with the telepath."

"I will." He stood up. "Lovely talking to you as always."

"Thank you. You know you're always welcome." She paused. _Good luck with Ms. MacAllister._

Walking back to his office, it occurred to John that based on everything he’d heard and seen about how their powers worked, Tabitha was an Omega vadasz. Sol had told him once they were the source of vampire legends. 

He stared at his phone for a moment before picking it up. He always had had a thing for women who could kill him.

It rang four times before she picked up with a sleepy. "Hello?"

"I woke you up," he said.

"Mmm, yes. A habit of yours, Agent Byrne." He should probably avoid picturing her in bed. Nope, too late. "I hope Reg and Zelda didn't face too much wrath," she was saying.

He could hear sheets rustling. Damn. "I admire her determination. And she did get you on board."

"That she did. And now you're calling me." She paused to yawn. She was probably stretching when she did it. He really hoped Jordan wasn't nearby. 

"I was wondering if you could come down to our office sometime soon."

"Time for my indoctrination?"

"There's paperwork."

"Ah." The sheets rustled again. "Can we do it after dark? The sun and I don't get along very well."

"Sure, I can stick around."

"I can do it any night you wish. Traffic might take a while, though."

He found himself smiling. "Tonight works for me. And you don’t have to go into DC, we’re in Virginia. Can I email you directions?"

She paused. “You’re not at Headquarters? Are you at Quantico? I know where that is.”

“We’re not. I’ll explain when you get here.”

"All right." She gave him her email address. "I can leave at twilight."

"Call me when you get here, I have to come let you in."

"All right. I'll see you soon."

"I look forward to it."

She all but purred, "Me, too," before hanging up.

He set down the phone and sighed. He was so doomed.


	7. Chapter 7

Tabby hummed to herself as she took a hot shower and spent some time drying her long hair before pulling it back in clips. She was standing in front of her closet, trying to decide what to wear when she heard Tove chuckling in her head. _Quiet, you._

_So suggesting that red miniskirt would be bad?_

_I don't think it's entirely appropriate for something that's sort of a business meeting._ She paused. _I have those grey pinstripe pants that make my ass look great._

_Yes. And wear heels, for the ass benefit. He was tall._

_Oh, good point._ She pulled out the pants and a scarlet top and slipped them on, heading downstairs to grab food and a travel mug of coffee. 

Tove came out of her office. "You look hot."

She grinned widely. "Thank you. I shouldn't be excited. Is it stupid to be excited?"

"I would be excited if I was woken up in the middle of dirty dream by the object of said dream calling me."

Tabby felt herself blush a little. "Man, I'm glad he's not telepathic."

"That might facilitate the sex."

"I think I can get my point across without it.

Tove grinned. "Good for you. Really."

Tabby shrugged. "Nothing may come of it. But he does. . . appeal to me. Which is nice. Hasn't happened in a long time."

"I know. Just that makes me happy." Tove hugged her. "Drive safe."

She gave her a squeeze. "Will do. I'll give a call when I'm heading back."

"Good luck."

She winked. "Thanks." She stopped in her office and opened her email, skimming the directions before putting the address in her phone. She got her food and coffee, checked the sky and decided it was dim enough to head out. 

When she got there, she wasn't entirely sure she had the right building. The concrete sign read Adams Investments and it looked like a generic office building. But she parked next to a black Mercedes in the nearly deserted lot and called him. He answered with just, "Byrne."

"I'm either outside your building or about to confuse some accountants."

The Mercedes beeped and flashed lights next to her. "Yep," he said, apparently hearing it through the phone. "Right lot. Come to the door, I'll meet you."

"On my way." She tucked her phone back in her pocket at headed for the doors. She was not even a little bit surprised he drove a black Mercedes with tinted windows. Again, it was central casting FBI. It's what he _should_ drive, He was waiting for her at the door. "Are those window tints street legal?" she teased.

"I have government plates," he replied.

"Of course. I'm sorry I'm keeping you late."

"I don't mind." He took her through a pair of doors, and then to a scanner that read his palm print, his retina, and his voice. More doors, a hallway, and an elevator. Where were they going?

He used an intercom when the elevator stopped and the doors only opened when someone answered. The lights were dimmed in the bullpen so she took her sunglasses off. "This is very James Bond," she commented.

A curvy, brown-haired young woman came out of one of the offices. She was in her mid twenties, and a burn scar marred her cheek, half hidden by her hair. She smiled at them. "Hello." She looked at Byrne. "IQ's still downstairs, he can buzz you in when you walk her back out. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks Carmine," he said.

"Any time, Boss." She gave Tabby a nod and a warm smile as she slipped past them into the elevator.

"Our assistant," he said, as he led her down the hall to his office. "She fusses."

"Good assistants usually do. You have someone working here named IQ?"

"His given name is Ignatius Quinten. It became a joke, and then a habit. Not helping the Bond thing, is it?"

"Not even a little. Do you have a stern but maternal boss that outwardly seems harmless but is still rather menacing?"

"I don't know that I'd call her maternal."

Tabby laughed. He held a door open for her and gestured for her to go ahead, which she did.

His office was nicer that she expected, solid modern furniture, a leather couch, plants. Tabby wondered if Carmine had decorated it. Or maybe Price, the redhead that had come with him on his visit. She took a seat on the couch without him offering, stretching her legs out. “So, what is this place?”

“My office.”

She gave him a look. “You know what I mean. I have the odd feeling this might not be the FBI.”

“That’s correct.”

She looked at him expectantly, but he said nothing. “At least give me a hint. Where did you come up with Adams Investments?”

He sighed a little. “We are technically the Agency Devoted to Alternate Methods of Security. ADAMS.”

Tabby processed that a moment. “You’re a bunch of enhanced. Working for a shady agency. Named ADAMS.” Byrne nodded, looking a combination of weary and expectant. She couldn’t help it, she lifted a hand and snapped twice. He nodded, like that’s what he’d been expecting. She laughed. “Sorry. Is there a secret handshake or oath of fealty?"

He held out a clipboard. "Just paperwork. Also, Dr. Gaffney, our staff shrink, is going to need to meet you, but she couldn't stay tonight."

She took the clipboard and started reading it. "Ah. Another doctor to pick at my brain."

"There is one sticky thing. We're going to need to clear your roommate."

She glanced up. "Tove? Why?"

"She is a stronger telepath than any of us have ever seen. She seems to read unconsciously. She must read you constantly."

"Ah. Yes, she does. She sees my dreams too." She paused. "How much clearance are we talking here? She doesn't have a clean record."

"Can I ask what her record contains?"

"It's mostly drug stuff. She was in an asylum for a while, too." She looked back at the clipboard, started filling things out. "They don't call them that anymore, do they?"

"That's fine. Both substance abuse and psychiatric diagnoses are extremely common among enhanced. Particularly at her level. Institutionalization and/or suicide are usually where most Omegas of any type end up-- we rank powers from Alpha up."

She looked up at him again. "You guys have a rating system?"

"It's a classification scale. For example, an Alpha heavy telekinetic can bend a spoon. The strongest Omega we know can hold up a small jet."

She tilted her head. "I’m an Omega, I assume."

"Yes, you are. We have a vadasz on staff, he calls you a vampire."

Tabby grinned, feeling almost nostalgic. "Ah, been a while since I heard that one. What are you?"

"No one knows. I'm alone in my category. We rank telekinetics by what they can lift, and I can’t lift much, But. . ." He trailed off, and then slowly two strands of her hair lifted up, in front of her eyes. While she watched, they tied neatly into a bow, then untied.

She laughed and was surprised to hear it came out an almost a girlish giggle. "That was so cool."

She could tell by the way his scent changed that he'd wanted to impress her. "It has all sorts of uses. But I am unique. My power's like tweezers."

She arched a brow and gave him a smile. "That does have potential, doesn't it?"

His eyes closed briefly. "That it does."

She hid a smile in filling out her forms. The pheromones he was letting off were. . . encouraging

Byrne got up to rummage in his desk for something she couldn't see. "I am sorry about them coming out and throwing the sob story on you. That's not usually how I operate."

She shrugged. "It's all right. She's afraid and she had to do something. I understand."

He opened a small case and took out a pill, taking it with no water. "Everyone here has a soft spot for Zelda. She’s worked for the government in some sort of classified capacity since she was a teenager—they found her when she hacked into NORAD."

She watched him, debating, but decided it was rude to ask. "Tove said she buzzed. Painfully. She must be very smart."

"Yeah, that's why her office is in the basement. I'm a Beta telepath and I hear the buzz. You get used to it. Like electrical noise. But all of them down there are smarter than I could have even comprehended before coming here. There's also IQ, plus a guy named Henry who remembers, literally, everything. He found Kincaid’s photo because he remembered seeing it in a newspaper 5 years ago." He settled back in his chair. "There's a theory that powers come from the supposed 'unused' part of the human brain. Downstairs is running at 99%, I think. Of course, your kind defy that. No one else has altered physical traits. At least, not natural ones."

She chuckled. "It takes some extra brain powers to . . . sort all the extra stuff we get. Sounds and smells you can't imagine. But yes, we are the odd ones. My grandmother used to claim we weren't psychic but just a different breed of human. But Nagyana was always a little nutty."

_You're psychic. Or you wouldn't hear me_ His voice in her head was completely different from his speaking voice. Out loud he had the effect of someone speaking in a very particular way. Like he was deliberately trying to keep his voice accent-less. Clipped. Mental voices didn't have accents quite the same as spoken voices, but there was something very. . . southern about his anyway. Kind of hillbilly, actually.

It made her smile again and she held the clipboard out. "That was our argument to her. But she liked to feel special."

"Y'all are pretty damn special as-is."

She controlled her facial expression carefully, but the ‘y'all’ delighted her. "Why thank you."

He took the clipboard and put it on his desk without looking at it. "I'm going to confess something to you, and you have to promise not to mock me."

She held up three fingers. "Scouts honor."

"We are very lean on crime solving skills. I've never been involved in a murder investigation in my life."

Tabby laughed. "Well you're lucky to have one of NYPD's best contracting for you." She stretched her legs, picked a piece of cat fur off her pants. "It will be nice to be on an investigation again."

"Does it bother you that he's out there?"

"Kincaid?" She considered the question. "Not. . . personally. I mean, I would love to rip his still beating heart out and show it to him. . . but it was five years ago. I worked very hard to not let what happened consume me. I've mostly succeeded. I want to stop him before he hurts someone else. But it's no greater than I would for any other killer. Making it personal would be letting him get under my skin again and I refuse to let that happen.” She looked at Byrne, met his gaze. "To be honest, they all bothered me. Murders. When they stop bothering you is when you stop being an effective cop.

"I admire that." He rubbed his temple for a moment. "I've been in many ethically gray situations. Where the line between murder and justice becomes so blurred you can't see it. And then there's combat."

"I thought you had a military air around you. That's a different ball of wax. Much less paperwork, I hear."

"Yes. But no easier on the conscience."

"I would imagine not." She shifted on the couch, sitting up rather than lounging. "I shot a couple of people in the line of duty. Once in self defense once in defense of my partner. Neither weighed on me terribly. I did the right thing at the right time with very little option otherwise. But I've learned that vadasz in general and vampires in particular have different views on killing and justice than most."

He squinted his eyes and rubbed his temple again. He was starting to smell like he was in pain, though he looked entirely normal. "Enemy soldiers are often just scared kids. It's hard to see them as bad guys. Well, some of them. Others, I had no problem shooting."

"Yeah, soldiers are different. Half of you don't want to be there. The other half generally shouldn't." She tilted her head. "Are you all right?"

"Bit of a headache," he said. "It's nothing."

She frowned. "Came on pretty fast."

He lifted a shoulder. "Mine are like that."

Tabby twitched her nose a little but let it drop. "Any other paperwork?"

"That's it for you. Robin will call you about an appointment, and about coming to interview Tove. They don't want her to come here, so we'll come to your place."

She smiled. "That's fine. I'll warn her."

He took a slow breath. "It was very nice seeing you again. I can walk you out."

She smiled and stood. "If your head is hurting you don't have to. . ."

"I do, actually, have to." He stood up. "I must supervise you at all times."

She laughed. "Of course."

He walked her out to the elevator and hit the button. The doors opened immediately. He didn't say anything, and stood very still. That was no ordinary headache, at least not like any she'd ever had.

She frowned at him and touched his arm lightly.

He looked down at her, and gave her a small smile as the doors opened. _I'm all right._

_You don't smell all right,_ she protested as she stepped out of the lift.

He stepped into the hallway and they went through the multiple sets of doors. He had to run his biometrics just to get out, too. _Just a migraine. You know men and admitting weakness._

_Mmm._ They headed over to her car. _It was nice seeing you again. I look forward to working together._

He waited there, leaning on his Mercedes, until she got in. _Me too. Drive safe_

_Thanks. See you soon._ She lingered a minute. She could think of no reasonable excuse to stay longer. _Bye,_ she thought softly before pulling out of the spot.

He lifted a hand, and stayed there until she was out of the lot.

*

The tapping sound invaded John's dreams, and he opened his eyes. He was in the back seat of his car, where he'd laid down the night before because his head hurt too much to face the retina scanner. He looked toward the sound. Jordan was tapping on his window. Slowly he sat up, and opened the door. "You're not supposed to be able to see in here."

"I can't. I can sense you. Why did you sleep in your car?"

"Headache. Needed to lie down. Guess I was more tired than I thought. Damn medication. What time is it?"

She checked her watch. "Almost seven thirty."

He cursed again. "Okay. I need a shower and to go feed my dog. I'm going to run home. Can you tell Doc I'll be back by 9?"

"Of course. How did the meeting with tall, dark and busty go?"

"Perfectly nicely, thank you." He didn't like that he sounded a little defensive.

Jordan smirked. Sometimes he wondered exactly how much she could surmise, just from emotions. Though some of it could be just how very well she knew him. "Right. I'll pass the message to Doc. Give the hellhound a pat for me."

"He misses you, you know."

"Right, 'cause he can't sucker you with his big brown puppy eyes."

He went around to the driver's side door. "I can't deny that. I'll see you later," he added as he got in. "Thanks for waking me up."

"Anytime, Byrne," she said, giving him a wave as she headed for the building.

He pulled out, and drove his way home to his place in Arlington. He could hear his dog barking his fool head off as he got to the front door of his townhouse. He opened the door and was nearly tackled by the German Sheppard. "Sorry, sorry. I had a migraine and passed out in my car."

Panzer gave him a reproachful look. _I could have starved_

"You can actually go quite some time without food without dying," he replied. Mild as Byrne's telepathy was, he could only really converse with other psychics. But he could hear people who "thought loudly", which were generally people with anger issues and women checking out his ass. And certain animals, as it turned out. Robin thought telepaths' brains formed their mental output into coherent thoughts, so it sounded like human thoughts. But Panzer certainly had more complex thoughts than the dumb hound dog he'd grown up with.

Though Panzer did still think mostly about food.

_Don't want to test that. Food now._

"Right, right." He headed into the kitchen and opened the fridge, to pull out a batch of Panzer's food. One thing you learned when you could hear your dog-- dogs didn't much like kibble. He scooped some vegetables into a bowl and added a hunk of raw beef. "Don't make yourself sick," he said as he put it down on the floor.

_Yay!_ He started chomping away. He must be hungry, usually he complained when it was cold. He took a break halfway through the lean on John's legs. He sniffed at him gently. _You smell of woman. With other dogs. And furballs._ Dogs in general and Panzer in particular had constant disdain for cats.

He scratched Panzer's ears. "Woman I was working with. She does have a lot of pets."

He leaned up to the petting. _To the right._

John shook his head and followed instructions. Panzer had been bred as a military K-9 and been rejected for being too lazy. His life lounging around at John’s house and digging in the yard suited him much better. "I need to go shower. I'll be back. Eat your breakfast."

The dog shook himself, muttered something about water and went back to his bowl, tag wagging gently as he chomped.

John smiled and went upstairs for his shower and change of clothes. He occasionally considered getting some colored ties, but after 13 years in the military, he liked having a uniform. His office didn't exactly provide one, or care how anyone dressed—case in point: Zelda—so he made his own. John liked consistency and routine.

At this point if he dressed in something other than his dark suit and tie they'd probably send him to Robin for a psych eval. Last year at Halloween Sol had dressed up as him. He'd even shaved and cut his hair. John still didn't know who'd put him up to it, probably Jordan. It had been a hit with the whole office. John supposed there were worse things to be known for.

He wondered briefly if Tabitha preferred colored ties, then shook the thought away. He was actually pretty sure she preferred no tie and probably no starched shirt, either. And he really needed to get a handle on his attraction to her. A crush, Robin had called it. He was sure Jordan had some other, more vulgar description. This was his workplace, not a dating service. Besides, they were about to hunt a serial killer. Not exactly a romantic cruise.

Still, it had been. . . nice talking to her the night before. He didn't open up to a lot of people. Jordan, Robin, Carmine to some extent. And even with them he was a closed book on certain subjects. He felt oddly comfortable with Tabitha, though. Like he could tell her practically anything and she wouldn't judge. Maybe when this mess with Kincaid was settled. . . surely a woman didn't wear high heels like the one's she'd had on if she wasn't trying to show off something.

He grinned to himself, buttoning his shirt. They really had done wonderful things for her rear end. And from what he'd heard of vadasz women they generally weren't opposed to casual flings.

Downstairs, Panzer started barking furiously. He came down the stairs to see him at the front door. _Invader! The perimeter has been breached! Must defend! Invader!_

John squinted at the window. "It's the mailman."

Panzer was growling menacingly at the door. _Must defend territory. Open the door._

"Go back in the kitchen."

Panzer barked at him. _Why won't you let me do my job?_

"It's not your job. I want to continue to receive mail."

That got one final bark before the dog stalked into the kitchen. He went out to get the mail from the box, and flipped through it on his way back in. He sorted through the mail and stopped and one envelope. The postmark read Kimball, West Virginia. He folded it up and shoved it in his jacket pocket. He'd real with that later.

Inside he found Panzer moping on his dog bed in the den. _Going away again?_

"If I don't earn money, I can't feed you."

_I miss you when you're gone._

He came over to pet him. "I know you do. But the last time I brought you to the office you tried to eat Zelda's cat."

He licked his chops. _So close._

"I'll see you tonight. Be a good boy."

_All right_

He reached into a jar on his desk and tossed Panzer a treat before heading out.


	8. Chapter 8

Tabby got up early the next afternoon. There was an email from Robin Gaffney, asking if she could come by at six o'clock. Tabby sent a reply saying that was fine and headed downstairs. Tove was reading the paper. "We're going to have more visitors. Also, they need to clear you since you can hear everything that goes on in my head. So she may need to talk to you."

Tove laughed. "I can't get security clearance. Well, not anymore. I had it once, back when I interpreted at the UN. Now I have a record."

Tabby poured herself some coffee and grabbed a banana out of the fruit basket. "Apparently in the enhanced spy community drug problems and time in the asylum is par for the course."

"You know, I believe that." She lifted her paper, and then put it down again. “Are they really spies?”

Tabby dumped sugar and cream in her coffee. “Hell if I know. He wouldn’t tell me. Half the time I wonder if he knows himself. It is very 007 over there. Almost to the point of parody.” She sat at the table, peeling her banana. "You don't have to help or anything. They just worry about what you'll pick up from me."

"It's an entirely reasonable fear."

"That it is. I've actually gotten used to knowing you're up there all the time. But I don't know any state secrets."

"Think they'll tell you some?"

"Probably not. But I'll be spending time around them and possibly in their building, so who knows what I might overhear or pick up." She sipped her coffee. "Maybe Byrne talks in his sleep," she murmured.

"I hope you get to find out."

"Mmm," she said noncommittally, then added. "He does seem interested in me. Showed off his powers for me. It was cute."

"He likes you."

Tabby rolled her eyes at the high school phrasing. "God. Did you pick up naughty thoughts?"

Tove primly folded her paper. "I like to allow your life to have a little mystery."

"Thank you. I appreciate that. I'm kind of enjoying the chase."

"I'm enjoying watching."

Tabby grinned. "I should take it to his house if the clothes start flying, right? I don't imagine any of us want you listening in."

"I don't. I've told you how I feel about what men think during sex."

"Yes. Well, he has to sleep somewhere."

"I'm sure he has a very nice bed."

Tabby grinned widely at that thought. "We should end this line of thought so I'm not all hot and bothered when the shrink gets here."

"She's not the empath is she? That would be embarrassing."

"He didn't mention. I doubt it. I don't think psychiatrist is an optimal career choice for an empath."

"All the ones I knew were assholes."

"Psychiatrists? I imagine you didn't have the best experiences. I liked mine, obviously. I would never have gotten my head back on straight after Kincaid without her. We'll have to see what this one is like."

The doorbell rang, and Tove looked at the door warily. "Here we go."

Tabby patted her arm on her way to answer the door. The woman on the other side was a couple of inches shorter then her, with brown hair pulled back in a French braid and hazel eyes. She had on very expensive shoes and her briefcase was Coach. She smiled. "Ms. MacAllister?"

"Call me Tabby. You must be Dr. Gaffney, come in."

She held out her hand as she stepped into the front hall. "Robin."

Tabby shook her hand, getting a whiff of lilacs. "Come into the den, we can talk."

Robin followed her down the hall, and they sat. "Your house is beautiful."

"Oh, thank you. Took me a while to find the right one. My roommate, Tove, is upstairs getting some work done. I understand you want to speak with her, too?"

"I do. I have to clear her."

"I'll warn you, she's suspicious of shrinks."

"I've read her history, I'm not surprised. Even the most compassionate professional is going to see a telepath as schizophrenic, which is not easy to handle. My own grandmother was institutionalized for most of her life. You almost have to be born of the carnival fortune tellers I married into for someone not to call a doctor."

Tabby grinned. Fortune tellers. She was really starting to like this little group. "I think you being a telepath will put her at ease. She's really surprisingly normal when not hearing the thoughts of a hundred crazy people."

"I believe it. Most of our new people are pretty wary. Most enhanced have not had a lot of open acceptance in their lives. Vadasz are unique like that, it is so strongly hereditarily correlated that you are raised among others like you."

"Yes, we're lucky in that. It would be very hard to be a vadasz and grow up in a so-called normal family. It happens once in a while, children of one night stands and the like. They're usually. . . a little off. Most of our men make every effort to make sure it doesn't happen."

"We have one at the office-- who, I should note, has a far uglier criminal record than your friend, which is why she shouldn't worry. He says we are his pack, now, and he speaks of the time before he had a pack like a recovering alcoholic speaks of the time before he was sober. He heads our internal security and won't sign off on people until he sniffs them. He wanted to come today to 'evaluate' Tove. Apparently you're okay sight unsmelled, being a MacAlister."

Tabby laughed a little. "Well, maybe he'll take me vouching for her in the interim. We actually can tell a lot about a person by scent. Truly crazy people often smell off. As do liars, usually. It's was a handy trick in my former line of work."

"May I read you?" Robin asked.

Tabby sighed, but nodded. "Go ahead."

"I promise not to pry."

"I appreciate that. I don't have much in the way of secrets living with Tove."

"I'd imagine not." Robin closed her eyes, and Tabby felt a strange itch inside her head.

Tove had read her a time or two, usually to help her remember something on the tip of her tongue. It was a similar sensation, not one you easily got accustomed to. Robin sat in her chair, staring straight ahead, eyes slightly unfocused. The very first time Tabby had been read, she’d been silently a little disappointed it didn’t require touch like a Vulcan Mind Meld. That would have been cool. Tabby took a sip of her lukewarm coffee and waited patiently for her to dig up what she needed to.

She didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, just skimming. Just as quickly, it was done.

Robin smiled. "Congratulations, you're not crazy." Tabby chuckled and she continued. "That's all I really needed. Hopefully you won't be exposed to too much proprietary information beyond what you already know. My instinct tells me you're not one to go blabbing about us all to the media anyway. Vadasz in general are too private for that."

Tabby grinned. "We spend our whole lives being very different. We're good at keeping it to ourselves."

"Would you like to go get Tove?"

"Will do. Wait right here." She got up, deposited her mug in the kitchen and went up to Tove's office. "Ready to talk to her? She's really very nice."

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Tabby put an arm around her shoulders and walked back to the den with her. "Dr. Robin Gaffney, this is Tove Kolbein."

Robin got to her feet. "Pleasure to meet you."

Tove shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"I've already taken a look at your record, I assure you we have team members with much more colorful histories. I saw you worked for the UN. I'm impressed you were able to work in such an environment."

She smiled. "Diplomats think about interesting things. I also was a pretty heavy drinker and then drug user. It helped tone it down to a dull roar, so I could concentrate on the minds I wanted to. I was an excellent interpreter, assuming I was only listening to a few heads at once." 

Robin nodded. "I am nowhere near your strength, but I know just being in a room of 'loud thinkers' can be deafening. I don't blame you for turning to alcohol. In college I probably used it as a crutch more than I should have. It's a pity we can't find a way to selectively block or filter you. Some of the milder telepaths we have can, but it's unique from person to person. It really is a shame, we could use a good interpreter on our team."

"Maybe you should talk to Tabby about that. She's the one who keeps the world out."

Tabby grinned. "We have been saying we wanted to travel."

Robin looked interested. "Have you ever had any other vadasz try to block for you? Tabby's relatives perhaps?"

"No, I've never needed it. But they certainly can block me out. It's very odd, I know less about them than anyone I've ever met. I actually lived with her brothers family for a while, and I know less about him than about you." 

"That's very interesting. We don't know very much about vadasz. Or Omega level telepaths for that matter. I know Sol has done blocking for Jordan, our empath. It's useful to know it works on high level telepathy as well."

"You should try it. You get great sleep."

That made her laugh. "I'll think about it. Do you mind if I do a quick read on you? I won't pry, it's just to get a general feel of you."

She took a deep breath. "It's only polite, I can't help but read you."

Robin inclined her head and her eyes unfocused again as she skimmed along the surface of Tove's mind. A few moments later she leaned back and smiled. "All done. That's all there is to it. I'll tell Byrne you're both cleared and he'll get in touch about the investigation."

"Life's easier as a mind reader, isn't it?"

"It really is, in some ways."

They all stood, and made their goodbyes. "That wasn't so bad," Tove said.

Tabby rubbed her back. "Yeah. She was very nice."

"She likes you. She also agrees with your assessment of Byrne being hot, though it more objectively."

"Well, I like her too. And I didn't need the affirmation but it's nice to know she's not competition."

"She's divorced and not over her ex, though she wishes she was." She paused and made a face. "You know, it can be really awkward learning all these personal details about random people I meet."

Tabby shook her head. "I can only imagine. Though it does give you insight into their foibles." Tabby's phone started ringing, and she was embarrassed that her heart rate sped up when she recognized the number. "Hello, Byrne," she said.

"Did your interview go okay?"

"It went very well. Dr. Gaffney just left. I think she liked me."

"I expected she would."

"She said we're both good to go. Whenever you want to start the investigation let me know."

"I wanted to talk to you about a base of operations. I know it's a long drive for you to come here, seeing as you can't leave until sunset."

She sat on the steps. "That it is. You're welcome here, but it's no shorter a drive for you."

"And we'd be going the same direction as rush hour traffic. Zelda lives out by Dulles, and offered her place. I also think the company would make her feel safer."

"I can do that. When do we start?"

"Can you do tomorrow?"

"Certainly. I'll try to get ahead in my work tonight. Email me directions."

"I will." He paused. "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

She grinned widely. "Me too."

"Have a good night," he said, and then he hung up.

Tabby looked at the phone a moment, just smiling. It was silly, she was acting like a teenager. But damn, was she looking forward to tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kids were off school and last week kind of vanished.

Tabby coordinated with Byrne through email the next day, setting up arrangements to go see the victim's family. She picked him up at headquarters and they headed towards the city. It was late afternoon, early enough to miss rush hour, and fortunately fairly overcast with the promise of snow. Still, she wore a heavy jacket and gloves as well as a hat, scarf and sunglasses to keep as much sun off herself as possible. He was quiet when he got in. She hoped she wasn't going to get a lecture on keeping things professional. He was irresistible when he was being stuffy.

"You smell vaguely of coconuts," was what he said.

She smiled. "That would be my SPF 75."

That made him smile, just a little. "You remind me of the beach."

She glanced at him. "Is that a good thing?"

The smile widened, and he leaned over and sniffed her. "Yeah."

Tabby flushed a little, heartbeat speeding up. "Careful now."

He shook his head, like he was trying to get a hold of himself, and shifted in his seat. "I hear this part's hard."

She blew out a breath. "Not as hard as telling them you found their loved one face down in the grass. And do you mind coming down to the morgue and confirming that? It won't be pleasant dragging it up again, I'm sure they thought they were done talking about it. But hopefully we'll be fast and it will help.

"I've been wrestling with how much to tell them."

"I think staying vague is best. They probably won't press. Just tell them we suspect a serial killer and have some follow up questions regarding that. People expect government and police to be frustratingly vague."

"I couldn't decide on a badge to bring, so I brought a couple of options. I think the FBI is the least threatening, but the real FBI is now involved, and if she mentions us to them there might be a problem."

She looked at him. "You have multiple badges?"

"I do. FBI, CIA, NSA, ICE, Secret Service, IRS and a military ID. Couple others, too, that I never use. One from Stark Industries when I have to pretend I don’t work for the government.”

"Your little club gets cooler every time I talk to you. Though no one, in a million years, would believe you work for the IRS." She shifted in her seat. “You never did tell me who you really worked for.”

"I actually cash a paycheck from the army, we all work for different departments or organizations. Makes us harder to unearth via FOIA requests.” 

"That must get complicated. You all have one boss, though, don't you? Doc?"

"Yes. And I can’t tell you who she reports to, because even I don’t know. Our facilities and admin personal are funded by the DOD. But it’s been clear that’s not who she takes orders from." He paused. "I don’t think."

"How very mysterious. How long have you worked for them?"

"Five years. Two for SHEILD. Before that I was actually, legitimately, in the army."

She glanced over at him, trying to gauge his mood, before looking back at the road. "Which do you prefer?"

"Well. . . here no one is shooting at me. That's a big plus." He sighed. "You get to a certain point where the danger and adventure isn't exciting anymore."

She smiled a little. "Amen to that."

"And it's very nice to be able to be yourself. After having to always be on guard."

"Mmm. Yeah. That was always hard, when I was on the force. In the end my partner eventually figured out something was. . . odd about me. But even he's never really got the whole story."

"It's hard to explain to. . . normal people."

She smiled. "Tell me about it. Try explaining to a totally mundane person that your ancestors were the basis for vampire legends. I imagine he either starts hunting for some silver and a stake or you start uncovering various levels of unsettling fetish."

"Or they call the men in the white coats."

She inclined her head. "Also possible. It is nice to be myself around people. No one to look at me funny if I start growling." She glanced at him. "Or purring."

"You purr?"

Tabby felt herself blushing a little. "With the proper motivation. It's an. . . unconscious happy noise. Like a hum or a sigh."

"I've only heard growls. But then, our vadasz is a guy." 

"Well, yeah, I imagine the growls would be a more common occurrence with him. No one really knows why we do it, but they're not affectations, just a part of being vadasz. I've never met one that didn't." She paused, merging off the highway and onto city streets. "Hissing. Hissing is usually an affectation."

"So you don't hiss?"

"Only if I want to be melodramatic. An ominous growl usually gets the point across better anyway."

"I think that's the house, there," he said. "Six fifteen."

She nodded and found a spot a couple blocks away. "I vote for the Secret Service, by the way. It’s the National Mall. In line sight of the Capitol. Surely that could legitimately be their problem."

He pulled the rest of them out of his jacket and put them in her glove box. "Ready?"

She nodded and tossed her hat, scarf and gloves into the back seat before climbing out of the car. It wasn't that cold, the bundling would be suspicious. They were quickly approaching twilight, anyway, hopefully she'd avoid a burn. She came around the car and they walked down the block together. When they reached 615 Tabby rang the bell.

A middle aged woman with curly hair opened the door. "Can I help you?"

Tabby smiled. "Mrs. Schneider? My name is Tabitha MacAllister. This is Agent Byrne. I'm very sorry to bother you but we're doing some investigating on your daughter's case and we wanted to ask you a few questions."

"I've already talked with the police," she said. “And the FBI.”

Byrne flipped open his badge. "We're from the Secret Service."

"Why is the Secret Service-?"

"Your daughter was found on the National Mall. That has put it on our radar. Please, Mrs. Schneider, it will only take a few minutes and we'll be on our way."

She hesitated, the stepped back. "Come in."

"Thank you." Tabby stepped inside, Byrne behind her. Mrs. Schneider led them into a tidy if out of date living room and gestured to the sofa. Tabby sat gracefully. "Did Lisa mention anyone following her? Anyone suspicious at work? Anything missing from her place?"

Mrs. Schneider sat slowly, and lifted an oxygen mask from where it sat on the end of the couch and took a breath. Tabby noted how pale the poor woman was. "She was afraid of someone. There was someone following her. But she never got a good look at him." 

"Did she mention if she saw him more near her house or near work?"

The woman hesitated. "No, I don't think so. I think it was more common at night."

Tabby noticed Byrne and pulled out his notebook and was jotting this down. "I didn't see any record of this in her file. She hadn't reported him to the police yet?"

"She didn't think there was anything they could do."

"Mmm." Tabby had heard that one a hundred times. Sadly, it was often true. If she hadn't known who it was or had any evidence there wasn't a whole lot of options. She noticed Mrs. Schneider take another hit of oxygen. "Are you all right? Can I get you something?"

She shook her head. "I had a heart attack recently. And all this stress. . ." She lifted a shoulder.

Tabby winced a little, trying to ignore her wave of guilt. The older woman waved a hand. "It's all right, dear. I know you just want to find this man. There's enough pep in me left to answer some questions."

Tabby cleared her throat. "Have you received any letters or anything since Lisa's death."

She shook her head, and stared down. "She was so scared, and I didn't know where she was and couldn't find her. And then. . . she was gone."

Tabby reached over and took her hand. "I'm very sorry," she said softly. "I promise all of the agencies involved are doing their very best to find him. We will find him."

The woman looked up at her, met her eyes. She stared at her, hard. "Yes," she said softly. "I know you will."

Tabby blinked, a little unnerved at that and leaned back. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Schneider. I think that's all. . ."

"We'll be in touch if we need anything else," Byrne said.

They got to their feet. "Don't get up," Tabby said. "We can show ourselves out."

"Good luck," she said.

"Thank you," she said again, following Byrne to the door.

He rubbed the back of his neck as they went down the walk. "I couldn't read her, but that's usual for me."

Tabby let out a long breath. "She wasn't lying. She's weak, but not otherwise ill. And she's very sad. That's about all I got."

"I'd be sad," he said. His phone started ringing, and he answered it without looking. "Byrne." She watched his whole face change, and his scent changed, too. Angry. "Jesus. Dad. How did you get this number?" She heard a voice that sounded very. . .redneck coming through the phone, but couldn't make out the other caller's actual words. "I really do not have time to talk right now. I'm working. No. . .no. . .don't call this number again. . .I'll call you when I have time. It's busy right now. . .Right. . . Bye."

He shoved his phone back in his pocket and started walking for the car. Tabby had to jog a few steps to keep up with him. I will not ask. I will not ask. "Do you want to get something to eat before we head back?" she asked neutrally. "Avoid some traffic?"

He stopped at the car door. "You know, that sounds great. Make it somewhere they sell scotch. Or at least beer."

She smiled. "Got it. Come on, I'm sure we'll find something."

He let himself in the car. He was silent while she got out of the development. "I've heard vadasz are often very curious. Like. . .cats."

She tossed him a smile. "Yeah, but the smart ones take a lesson from the cats and get over it."

"Well, I appreciate it." He smiled. "I don't much like talking about myself."

"Then I'll try not to ask. You've only known me a week. I'm neither your shrink nor your girlfriend. It's not my place to dig." She reached over and patted his leg. "We'll have a nice dinner. Find some neutral topic.”

Once they got to the restaurant, it took him exactly half a glass of scotch to start talking. "My father likes to call me for money. In fact, that's usually the only reason he calls me. Because he's got some new hare-brained money making scheme."

Tabby paused buttering her bread. "Seriously? There are really people in the world who think up money making schemes?"

"Oh, no, he doesn't think them up. Just falls for them."

"Ah. He doesn't have his own money?"

He shook his head. "Just social security. Not since they closed the mine."

She tilted her head. "Where are you from, exactly?"

He looked for a moment like he was considering not telling her. Then he took another drink. "Kimball, West Virginia."

She blinked at him. Well, that was unexpected. Yet. . . no, it was unexpected. "That explains the voice," she said out loud. He looked almost offended. _Not your outside voice. When we talk like this. It's not really accented. . . just has a particular cadence to it. It confused me._

"I've worked hard to lose it. I've just ruined my image with you, haven't I?"

She laughed. "Not at all. Maybe I find southern men mysterious and alluring, being a Yankee myself."

"I haven't been back in almost 20 years. I don't know how southern I really am."

Tabby did some mental math. "Left after high school?"

"Right into basic." He ate a piece of bread. "I know it sounds terrible. I know you have a good relationship with your Dad. But we just. . . don't see eye to eye. On anything."

"Oh. I know about family drama, believe me. My sister and I are like that. Couldn't be more night and day."

"I've been avoiding him, I just don't have the patience."

She took a sip of wine. "I know it can be frustrating, I really do. I don't remember the last time Anamarie and I talked that we didn't fight. But you should try to talk to him once in a while. Just to make sure he wants money and not a kidney or something."

"Would you give your sister a kidney?"

Tabby grinned. "Only if I took the old one out in the first place."

That made him laugh. "Yeah."

"Still, it's good to make sure he's not dying or anything. Surely there are some final words you'd like to tell him on his death bed."

"Maybe next week."

"Of course." The waiter came with their food and there was a break in conversation as they started eating.

_I really don't talk to people,_ he told her while he chewed his steak. _I know it doesn't seem that way. But it's just you._

_I'm flattered. I've been varying degrees of hermit for the last five years. It's nice to talk to you._

_I know. Though it surprises me now that I know you._

She smiled, sipping her wine again. _I'm not the hermit type?_

_No. You seem like someone who likes having. . .a pack._

_Mmm. That's true. In retrospect, maybe it wasn't the best idea to move down here. But I just. . . I was overwhelmed and didn't want sympathy. It was easier to hide for while. They were still there for me when I was ready. But we were never quite the same._

_They couldn't handle it?_

_It was . . . complicated. I'm not sure I've had enough wine to get into it._

_Gotcha._ He looked up. "Anytime. . ."

She smiled and reached across the table to run a finger over the back of his hand. "I'll keep that in mind." He didn't pull his hand away, and she got the sense normally he would. He wasn't man who touched people often. Whereas vadasz were all about touch and connections. It was why packs were so important, knowing there was always someone there to hug, to lean on. Eventually she took her hand back so they could continue eating.

They finished their food, they lingered over drinks. They walked back out to her car. "I was wondering something," he said.

She looked up at him. "What's that?"

"Do you feel a bit like you're on a date?"

Tabby laughed. "Very much so."

_Explains my urge to kiss you goodnight_

She stepped closer. _It would seem fitting._

_I have not contemplated the repercussions, yet. I feel like this might require proper risk assessment_

She lifted a hand and touched his cheek, running her fingers along his jaw. "Do you always consider repercussions and risk assessment? Do you never just go with your gut?"

His eyes dropped to her mouth. His scent surrounded her. “Rarely."

"I really think it's time you begun."

He was so close to her now, she could feel his breath across her lips. She closed her eyes, and then he murmured, "This is a bad idea," just before he kissed her.

His lips were surprisingly soft and he kept the kiss tender at first. Tabby slid her hand up to cup the back of his head, stroking his short clipped hair with her fingertips. She felt his arms slide around her and started to deepen the kiss, letting it heat up. He pulled her close against him, and his body radiated warmth despite the cold, even through their coats. He held himself still, tightly controlled, but she could feel him relaxing, giving into her. He turned her slightly, backing her up against her car. She purred softly, sliding her other arm around his neck. She arched into him, fitting her hips snugly into his.

He lifted his head, just barely. "Tabitha," he said. "We shouldn't."

"Well, not here, obviously. You're a bit bigger than my backseat."

Byrne stepped back, letting her go with visible reluctance. "At all."

She frowned. "I don't actually work for you, you know."

"Yes, but for the moment, you're on my team."

Tabby crossed her arms. "And there's no fraternizing on the team?" she asked in a gruff mimic.

He rubbed his forehead. "Not without some kind of risk assessment."

"What are the odds this risk assessment will come out in my favor?" She reached out and ran a hand down his chest. "Can I present my case? I can be very persuasive."

He closed his eyes. "Of that I have no doubt."

Tabby stepped closer, wanting to feel his heat again. "I could work up a spreadsheet. Pros and cons list." She leaned close. "Maybe a pie chart."

He smiled a little. "You're mocking me."

"I would _never_."

"We should get home."

She sighed and pecked his cheek. "Your wish is my command." She turned on her heel and headed for the driver's door.

He got in on the passenger side. "You don't want to get involved with me anyway."

"Oh. I really think I do."

"I'm not good at relationships."

"Who said anything about a relationship? I just want to see you naked and do naughty things to you." She grinned at him. "Oh, the naughty things I want to do to you." He closed his eyes and groaned. A rush of pheromones hit her nose and she purred again. "I know you're probably used to those mid thirties women whose clocks are ticking in their ears. But I've never been one for anything but casual sex. Whenever it starts looking like a commitment I break out in hives and run for the hills."

"Well." He looked over at her. "That is a different set of math."

She smiled. "I won't need a pie chart?"

"Now you _are_ mocking me."

"Maybe."

"Careful planning keeps people alive in dangerous situations."

"Look, I don't know what you've heard about vadasz sex, but . . ."

"It's just the way I live my life. You never know when a situation might go south." There was an edge to his voice now.

She held up a hand in a gesture of surrender. "I get that. I do. I was a cop for a decade. You don't take a breath and get your bearings and you end up shot. I'm guessing the army is a thousand times worse. I tease you because I like you and you're fun to spar with. Doesn't mean I don't respect you."

"You don't think we're going to end up killing each other?"

"It's a possibility. We may also be good for each other. I'm woman enough to admit I need someone to hold onto the back of my shirt to keep me from running into the trap." She glanced at him. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt you to have someone grab your hand and drag you into excitement once in a while."

"I feel sometimes like I've seen enough excitement to last a lifetime."

Tabby looked over at him, then pretended to be very distracted by the traffic in front of her. This is what happens when you cut yourself off. You start forgetting how to deal with people. How to flirt. You stop seeing the warning signs and find yourself with a pissed off spook in your passenger seat when all you wanted was a quickie. Finally, she said, "I'm sorry. Sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn't base their actions on impulse and a good smell. I like you. I've made that painfully obvious the last half hour or so. So. . . do your risk assessment. Whatever you have to do to be comfortable. And if I end up on the wrong side of it. . . I'm a big girl, I can live with that."

"Just so you know, I like you too. I've been told it can be hard to tell."

She smiled. "It's always reassuring to hear."

"And we really should focus on preventing this murder from happening."

"Of course. We should look into new rentals near the girl's apartment and work. He had to have noticed her somewhere."

"Was he that opportunistic?"

"His first two kills in New York were women who routinely walked past his apartment building. Best we could put together he would notice them and slowly build up an obsession, eventually stalking and abducting them. It was the same with me. He saw me on TV talking about the case and I became his next target. It's not a foolproof idea, but it's a lead and a good possibility."

"Why did he wait so many years between kills. Or-- maybe he didn't. He just stayed under the radar."

"That's entirely possible. He had an awful close call in New York. And while he was noticeably crazy he wasn't stupid. He would have known to hide and move around. Spread the kills out."

"And then he leaves a body smack in the middle of a giant tourist attraction? That says 'Come and Get Me.' "

Tabby shook her head. "Yeah, that's I don't get. I'd assume he was on the move but he's going to be around to get Zelda, so that can't be it. Maybe he was planning to put her somewhere else and got spooked."

"Unless he misses the media circus. Misses being chased. Fancies himself Hannibal Lector and wants a cop to play with."

"Mmm. That's a possibility. Kincaid always thought he was the antagonist in some kind of story. He may miss having a protagonist in his fantasy."

"The girl was bait, then?"

"Could be. If so I'd say we'll be seeing number two soon. He'll want to make sure the media doesn't forget about him."

"Media attention is the last thing that we want."

"I know but he'll be looking for it. He'll get off on the idea he's scaring people."

"I assume keeping it out of the news would ratchet up the body count?"

"I would think so. He's not likely to give up. Not getting media attention would just make him decide to try harder."

"There must be some way to use that."

Tabby nodded. "Toying with his supervillain complex was what kept me alive when he had me. It's very exploitable."

He watched her for a moment. "I will consider no crazy schemes involving you as bait. It's not on the table."

She smiled and tapped his leg. "You do like me."

His voice and face were dark. "I'm serious."

"I was not concocting such a plan, for your information. But I agree, no using me as bait.

"We'll figure something out."

"Yeah, we should brief the rest of the team. Maybe they'll have an idea."

"Tonight?"

She shook her head. "Up to you. I'm content to just head home and deal with it tomorrow, but I know we're sort of on a time crunch."

"Tomorrow, then. I'll get the team together."

"Sounds good. Keep me posted if you want to meet up again." She pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to his car. "I guess that's it, then."

He hesitated for a moment, before putting his hand on the door. "Goodnight, Tabitha."

She watched him. "Goodnight, Byrne."

He touched her arm, for just a moment, and then got out of the car. She waited until he got in his car and started it up before putting hers back into gear and backing out, heading for home.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - graphic description of a murder scene.
> 
> (No, it's not Zelda. Apologies if this is a spoiler, but y'all should know by now we don't kill anyone we ask our readers to invest in. We're happy ending people and that's that.).
> 
> \---
> 
> (Had to repost due to a fail on my part, sorry if anyone got confusing notifications)

The sun was shining brilliantly the following day, too bright for Tabby to get out of her house. They held a meeting in Byrne's office, with Tabby on speakerphone. They were going over Robin's profile and the interview with Mrs. Schneider. Zelda was making notes, and getting increasingly annoyed that she still could not see a pattern.

"I left a message for my old partner in New York," Tabby was saying. "He's going to send me anything he has from the old case. I know we got the official files but we had personal stuff that didn't make it in. I'll send you guys copies when I get them."

"Thanks," Zelda said. "The more information for my wall, the better."

"We never saw a pattern either, though he claimed they were all 'carefully chosen' in his best ominous voice."

"He really does have a supervillian complex, doesn't he?" Byrne asked.

"Yeah. Very much so. I wouldn't be surprised if he has some sort of running monologue going on in his head."

Zelda made a couple more notes. "I'll get into the apartment rental thing as well. See what I can dig up."

"Check residential and commercial stuff, he's not picky."

"Got it."

"Anything else, guys?" Tabby asked.

"Everyone's got their lists on this end," Byrne said.

"Anything else you want me to do? Other than look damn good?"

Zelda watched a strange look cross Byrne's face. "That's just fine. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Talk to you then. Have a good afternoon, everyone."

Everyone filed out into the hallways. Zelda moved slower, just watching Byrne for a minute. "You really think we can stop this guy?" she asked.

He seemed to weigh the question a moment, then nodded. "I do."

"I feel like I should get some things in order, just in case."

He shifted in his seat. "If that will make you feel better, by all means."

She hesitated for a moment. "You should steal your happiness where you can, Byrne. You never know when your life is going to change."

He blinked at her. Lord, did he think he was hiding it? "Thank you for the advice," he said neutrally.

She nodded, and went out. She passed the door of Jordan's office, then backed up and knocked on it.

"Come in," she called. When Zelda entered she found the other woman watering one of her many plants. "Hi, Zel, what's up?"

It took her a moment to consider how she wanted to phrase this. "So. . . Am I correct in my understanding that you have a sense of who is attracted to whom in any given group of people?"

The redhead put her watering can down, giving Zelda her full attention. "Oh, to awkward levels. Shall I guess who you want to know?"

"Well, I am attempting to be ladylike, and the walls around here have ears. If you know what I feel, all I'd like to know is if it would be a mistake to act on that. Because my life may, literally, be too short for a protracted exploratory flirting campaign, and no one should have to face embarrassment and rejection when they might be dying. Even if it might be the politest and gentlest rejection I've ever been issued."

Jordan smiled. "I imagine it would be." She leaned a hip on the edge of her desk. "Said person of interest is extremely hard for me to read, most of the time. He often has two sets of emotions going on. There's the one you see on the surface, and often inner turmoil he's dealing with. If you're asking if he's ever had naughty thoughts about you or finds you attractive the answer is yes."

She grinned. "Thank you. I was thinking about throwing a Superbowl party."

"Oh, that would be fun. If the Saints win you'll have a much better shot."

Zelda laughed. "Suppose I will. You'll come?"

She looked skeptical. "At your house?"

"A girl can dream, can't she? I have really big TV," she added.

"I'll think about it. All the ruckus from the game should drown out the worst of it."

"They'll be lots of joy if the Saints win."

"You have a point. And between you and Byrne there'll be lots of unreleased sexual tension bouncing around."

"Is that a good feeling or a bad one?"

"It's not too bad. But it's loud, which is what's important. I may just need a cold shower when I go home."

"Does anyone here have naughty thoughts about you? You could take them home. Or stay. I have lots of bedrooms."

Jordan smiled a little. "There are, but no one I'd want to sleep with. At least not enough to trade for the awkwardness afterwards."

"I'm not worrying about awkward for now. I might be dead and all." She wave a little. "See you later. And thanks."

"Anytime, hon."

Zelda stepped out, and pulled the door closed behind her. For some reason she was very bothered by what Jordan had said about inner turmoil. Reg always seemed so. . .cheerful. Though she supposed knowing things like how one of your friends might die would be a hard thing to live with. And Tove had told them that Fred's side of his head was utter pandemonium. Maybe Fred was the one in turmoil.

She went back to her office. Blinky was sitting on his shelf. He came to the office now and again. She sat down at her desk and typed out an email to their entire office.

_Hi all-- I'm throwing a Superbowl party. I know I'm not the most likely candidate, but I do have a 142" TV. I'll have beer and munchies, but please bring food! I have no idea how to make hot wings, so someone else should probably bring make them. Party starts at 5. Reply to this email if you can make it, and what you'll bring. —Z_

She added her address, and hit send. Blinky crawled down onto her desk and came over to rub her. She rubbed his nose. When she'd gotten him, the shelter had told her probably only had a year or so to live. She'd wanted to give an ill cat a warm place to spend his last days. That had been 8 years ago. He'd long outlived his death sentence, too. She picked him up and pressed her face into his fur, embarrassed by the tears she felt. She was going to have to find someone to take care of him.

He purred softly and rubbed her chin. She sniffled. "I think Panzer would eat you. You like Tabby, don't you? I bet she'd take you."

He meowed and yawned.

"IQ likes you. You don't like him, though. You could warm up to him."

He growled softly. Her computer pinged, indicating she had a new email. From Reg. _Lovely idea, Zelda. Hot wings are covered._

She leaned forward to type a response. _You never let me down._ She kissed the top of Blinky's head. "You're probably going to want to hang out in the front parlor on Superbowl Sunday."

He rubbed her again and hopped up onto her desk, making himself comfortable.

She took a deep breath. It would be okay. Somehow.

*

John was in the middle of the ocean of paperwork that seemed to make up most of his day job when Carmine buzzed him. "Zelda's here to see you."

"Send her in," he said.

She came in holding a piece of paper. "I found something you'll want to see."

He reached out a hand for it. "What do you have?"

"Well, I was looking at the recent rentals near the first victims work and home. Nothing interesting by her work, all of it checked out as legitimate business. No sign of a megalomaniac psychopath in the bunch. Near her apartment wasn't turning up much either, so I thought, why limit myself to six months? So I went back a full year and I found this." She handed him the paper. "Check out the name on the lease. Apartment 707, two floors above Lisa Schneider."

He stared at the name on the page in front of her. Tabitha MacAllister. "Damn," he said softly.

"I talked to the building manager. Said he'd seen the guy once or twice. Rent is paid promptly in cash. He's never had a complaint about him."

"Did he say who the woman was? I would think you'd need a woman in order to use a woman's name."

She shook her head. "The guy I talked to wasn't there when he applied for the apartment. Said he'd 'look into it and get back to me.'"

"Yeah, that's going to be a lot of CYA there. Thanks, Zelda, this is very useful. We're going to have to go check it out."

"No problem. I'm glad to finally do something useful."

"We'll get him."

She smiled faintly. "Thanks. You coming to the party? I invited Tabby and Tove, too. Wow, that was some alliteration. I wonder if they get that a lot?"

"I'll be there. It'll be good for us, I think."

She grinned. "I think so. I know I need to unwind a little. Okay, I'll talk to you later. Let me know what happens with the apartment."

"I will." He waited for her to shut the door, before picking up the phone to call Tabby.

"Byrne!" she answered. "I was actually awake this time."

"He rented an apartment in your name."

There was a pause. "Kincaid?"

"Yes. Zelda found and apartment two floors above Lisa Schneider, rented to Tabitha MacAllister."

"Well. . . that's unsettling on a number of levels."

"He's hunting you."

She blew out a breath. "I’m certainly on his mind."

"I need to go check this place out, you want to come?"

"Absolutely. When?"

"This week, I need to set it up with the manager. I'll do it in the evening."

"Thanks. Just let me know, I can do it any day."

"Good. I'll talk to you soon."

"I look forward to it," she said softly.

"Me too," he said before he hung up.

*

Tabitha met him at the office at 6, and they and Jordan drove into DC. "There had to be a woman to pose as you who signed the lease," John was saying. "We're trying to find her."

"It's unusual for him. He had no family. And we had no record of him using accomplices last time."

"Maybe he put on a dress," Jordan said. "It's DC. There's a lot of weird."

Tabby laughed. "Maybe he told them his parents were cruel and named him Tabitha. Stranger things have happened."

"People are remarkably understanding when there's cash involved."

"Truer words were never spoken."

When they got there, he parked in the lot, and they went to the manager's apartment. He came down with a key. "You know, I saw him the other day," the manager said conversationally as they went down the hall.

Tabby looked at him sharply. "How long ago was that?"

"Yesterday? Day before? I'm not sure. What do you people think he did, anyway?"

She glanced over at John and pulled the gun she'd brought out of its holster. "Very bad things," she told him. "You might not get your cleaning deposit back."

She was looking expectantly at him. "Oh, I don't carry a gun."

She arched a brow. "Seriously?"

Jordan had hers out. "Byrne has other weapons." She held her hand out to the manager. "I need to ask you to stay down here. Key, please."

He looked from her to John, and then handed over the key.

"Thank you." The three of them went the rest of the way down to the apartment. Tabby flanked the door, sniffing the air gently. She grimaced. "Got a bad feeling about this."

"Jordan?" he asked. "What are you getting?"

She held a hand over the door, not touching, just hovering. "Fear, humiliation, grief, pain. . . a sense of pride - that's him - satisfaction. He definitely had a victim here."

"There's blood," Tabby said. "I can smell it from here."

"Maybe you should stay out here," he said, and he unlocked the door.

He thought she said something that sounded like ‘bull’. Tabby followed him into the room, Jordan hanging back. Tabby swept the room with her gun, sniffing. She glanced back at Jordan, who nodded and both women lowered their guns. "No one alive in here."

The living room had only the most basic furniture, and looked un-lived-in. He headed towards the bedroom. "You smell anyone dead?"

Tabby closed her eyes and sniffed, turning her head. She opened her eyes just as he turned the handle. "Yeah," she said softly. "Lot of blood in there."

He looked down at her. “You can stay out here if you want.”

She shook her head. “I'm all right.”

Jordan was barely in the living room. "You can be stoic all you want, I'm staying way the hell over here."

John rubbed Tabby's arm, and then opened the bedroom door.

There was a woman on the bed, naked. There was a great deal of blood and she was obviously dead. She was covered in wounds and bruises. The fingers of her left hand were bent at odd angles, one missing. Her features were covered in blood but John could see enough to know there was something. . . not right about her face. He didn't think he wanted to know details. 

Tabby stepped past him and took a good look. He couldn't read her face, but her breath was coming in short little pants, through her mouth. She took a few steps closer and looked down at the dead woman before bowing her head and murmuring something in a language he didn't recognize. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

John rubbed the back of his neck, before going back to the living room. "Jordan, call Morris at the FBI. I don't want Metro getting into this. And call and warn Winchester it’s Game On."

She held up her phone. "On it. Tabby's in the hallway feeling tormented and sick."

"Thanks," he said, and he went out into the hallway. She was leaning against the wall, her head tipped back. John reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, not entirely sure if she wanted to be touched.

She turned and stepped into him, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around her and rocked her a little. _You okay?_

She took a deep breath, hands fisting on his jacket. _I. . . it's stupid. Do you know how many dead people I've seen? I was a homicide detective. Dead bodies were my job. I just. . . he's here because of me. I thought he was gone and now he's back. And it has something to do with me._

_It isn't your fault. You know that._

_I know it. But I don't really believe it._

_I'll keep saying it._

She smiled a little and pressed closer to him. _Thank you._

Jordan came out into the hallway. "They're on their way."

"Thanks," he said.

She hiked a thumb down the hall. "I'll wait for them downstairs."

He rubbed Tabitha's back. "Are you still up for this?"

She nodded and leaned back, rubbing both hands over her face. "I'm all right. Can't let him beat me now."

"I won't let him hurt you."

She met his gaze. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Do you want a protection detail?"

Her mouth quirked. "That might depend who's on it."

He smirked and shook his head. "It won't be me."

"Mmm. I'll think about it. And talk to Tove."

"Just let me know."

"I will." She went on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she said again.

He glanced at the hallway, checking for people, and then gently kissed her mouth. She cupped his cheek in one hand, sinking into him briefly before he lifted his head. She grinned widely at him, but didn't press.

"The FBI will be here soon," He murmured.

"I know. I'll behave."

"You good?"

He saw something flicker over her face an emotion he didn't have a name for. He only recognized it because he'd seen it in himself. It was darkness and fear and guilt and anger and so much more. It came from that face off with the reaper they'd both had. Sometimes it snuck up on you. Just as quickly it was gone and her mask was back, almost smiling. "I'm good as I can be."

He shook his head and let her go, pausing to straighten his suit jacket. She smiled fully and smoothed back her hair before tugging her shirt a little. "Downstairs?"

"Go, I'll stay and guard the room. I don't want anyone wandering in."

She nodded. "Got it." She glanced at the door once more before heading down the hall. He leaned against the wall, and watched her go. When they found this Kincaid, he was going to kill him himself.


	11. Chapter 11

Tabby came back up with the FBI about ten minutes later. The agents went in to collect evidence and clean up and Tabby hung out at the front door with Byrne. "Jordan stayed with one to interrogate the manager," she told him.

Byrne nodded. He seemed to be watching the agents with one eye, but still paying attention to her. "I don't want your name getting out."

"Good idea. It will give him too much encouragement. And I appreciate maintaining my privacy."

"You think that's what he wanted? Your name in the press?"

"I think this -" she gestured at the apartment. "Was to get the cops to come talk to me. Let me know what was happening and make me suspect it was him. Maybe he wanted me on the news to get me off balance. Or help find me. Who knows." She paused. "Mostly he probably just wanted me scared and paranoid. He'd get off on that."

"You think he'll come back here? To watch?"

She shook her head. "He may be monitoring the apartment somehow, but he won't be lingering once it's found. He likes the recognition, but he's not stupid. And he'll know not to let me get a scent on him."

"Well, I'll have someone monitor the area just in case."

She nodded and was silent a moment. "So. No gun?"

He glanced at the door. _I don't need it._

_What do you use instead?_

_Rupture an artery in their brain. Sever their spinal cord. There's quite a list of options._

_Jesus. I'm impressed you can think that fast, to use them._

_Training. Instinct. If I need speed I can also cramp or flex their hand._

_You had one in the military, I assume._

_Well, yes. I had a facade to maintain._

_Did you ever use it?_

He looked at her for a moment. _Yeah. Here and there._

She nodded and leaned on his arm briefly.

"You want to go somewhere when this is done?"

She smiled. "I'd love that."

He checked back in with the agents, and then went down to talk to Jordan and the manager. Tabby was up there alone when they wheeled the woman's body out.

She watched them walk by, body bag covered by a white sheet so as not to offend the masses. She'd told Byrne the truth, lots of dead bodies in her past. Some of them killed by the same man who'd taken this girl's life. Tabby thought she'd long since let go of any desire for revenge. But it was different now. It was getting personal and she was helpless to stop it. He was poking at her, playing some game. Tearing open old scars and scabs as if to prove she wasn't as better as she claimed to be. Byrne had said it wasn't her fault. Not entirely, maybe. But he wouldn't be in DC now if it wasn't for her. She followed them down the hall to the elevator, but decided to take the stairs rather than be in a small box with the body. Not in DC, she thought, but somewhere else, probably. Killing randomly so no one could trace a pattern. Maybe this time she could stop him. Maybe with a group of people with resources and a good idea of what he was capable of. Maybe this time he wouldn't get away.

Byrne was at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. Funny that he'd assumed that was the way she'd come down. He stood still as a statue, perfect posture, but his eyes were on her. She couldn't begin to describe the many ways in which he was not her type, but at this particular moment, that didn't seem to matter.

And God, how she wanted to collapse against him and get lost in his scent and heat. And despite his careful risk assessment and the two FBI agents still talking to Jordan in the lobby she bet he'd let her. And he'd pet her hair and tell her everything was all right. For some reason knowing that was enough. She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood beside him, sliding a hand behind his back to hook one finger through one of his, the action hidden from the others by their bodies. "All done here?" she asked in a surprisingly normal tone.

"Yeah. Jordan's going to hitch a ride home with Agent Morris. She's had enough of us."

Tabby frowned and tilted her head. "Wh- Oh, right. Empath. I guess we must be kind of annoying."

"So I hear. Ready to go?"

"Absolutely."

He shifted his hand to squeeze hers briefly, and the then inclined his head to indicate she should go ahead of him out the door. She nodded and released his hand, heading out to the car.

"Restaurant?" He asked as they got into the car. He watched her. "Takeout?"

She smiled. Amazing how well he knew her already. "Takeout. I'm not fit for company."

He nodded. "Would you happen to be up for meeting my dog?"

"I like dogs," she replied.

"I live in Arlington. It's closer, and I'm hungry."

Tabby smiled. "Sounds like a plan. What are you thinking? Chinese?"

"Anything your heart desires."

She wasn't entirely sure that was on the menu. But he seemed in a good mood, so maybe it was better not to push. "Then I think I could go for some greasy potstickers."

"Got it," he said. He opened his phone and called in the food order. Halfway through he pulled the phone down to asked her for additional order items, and then he put the car in gear and pulled out.

Tabby leaned her head back on the headrest. "This was a hell of a day."

"This may not be the worst day yet."

"Oh, I'm sure it won't be. And I've certainly had worse. I just. . . I'd gotten used to being normal."

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

She shook her head. "I would have been drug into it eventually. He's made sure of that." She looked at him and smiled. "I prefer you to the Metro police."

"For my dashing good looks?"

"And your scintillating conversation."

"You lie with the best of 'em, Tabitha."

She smiled and leaned her head back. “Tabby. You should call me Tabby. Tabitha makes me think I'm in trouble."

That made him smile. "Tabby." 

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Much better."

He lived in a completely nondescript townhouse complex. He parked the car and juggled the bags with the food. "I think your order is more food than mine."

"I have a hollow leg. Can I help you?"

"I got it." He looked at his door, and then she heard a click. "Okay, it's open."

Tabby shook her head. "That is handy." She opened the door and stepped in, holding it open for him. She was met with a large, surprised looking German Sheppard. They looked at each other a moment then he started barking sharply. _Intruder! Intruder!_

"She's with me. This is the woman," Byrne said.

He stopped barking and looked at her suspiciously. _Cat woman._

Tabby held her hand out, palm up, so he could sniff it. "Careful, I take that as a compliment."

"Be nice to her, Panzer," Byrne said.

He sniffed her hand and wrist thoroughly, then gave her a tiny lick. Tabby scratched behind his ear. "Good protecting. I was very startled. Had I been an intruder I'd have left."

He began sniffing at the bags. _Food! Can I have some?_

"That's up to Byrne. I know better than to feed strange dogs."

"You will get your regular dinner." He started down the hall, and into the kitchen. The whole place looked astonishingly un-lived in. And so clean you could perform surgery in the kitchen. He set the Chinese food on the counter, and went to the fridge to begin pulling out meat, she assumed for Panzer.

She went to the counter and started dishing out the food. Panzer paced between them, repeating the word "food" over and over again in their heads.

He set a plate down for him. She noted he fed his dog raw meat. "I never feed him, you know."

"I can see that. Skin and bones." She held a plate and set of chopsticks out for him.

He smiled ruefully. "I'm a fork man."

She twirled them and put them on her own plate. "I won't hold that against you."

"Little bit of redneck in me. I don't know, I've just never been able to master them."

She carried her plate to the table and opened up a sauce for her pot stickers. "It's all right. I can't type."

"Do you want to talk?" he asked.

She poked her food. "About what?"

"Today."

Tabby sighed. "I thought we were going to have a nice dinner. Maybe some harmless flirting. I might grab your butt. . ."

He chuckled. "Hey, okay. I'm the king of bottling things up, so I'm not going to push. I'm saying, you seemed upset. If you wanted to talk, I'll listen."

She was silent, eating a dumpling. "I do feel responsible," she finally said softly. "I know, I know, not my fault. And I know that if it wasn't here he'd be killing women somewhere else. But. . . I knew he wasn't dead. Before. I knew it. Call it victim's intuition. And I didn't say anything."

"Would anyone have listened to you?"

"Not the police, no. But my family would have. My brother and father. My pack. They'd have made it their mission to track and find him and correct the error." She lifted a shoulder. "I was burnt out and exhausted. I just wanted to crawl in a hole and forget the whole thing."

"There's no shame in that. You don't need to be the superhero in his comic book fantasy."

She smiled at that. "You may have a point."

"You did the best you could with the situation you had. Sometimes that's the best anyone can do."

She looked at him. "If you were me would you believe that?"

"No. It's a lesson I've learned the hard way."

She nodded. "I think I just need to process this all. I thought - had hoped - this was all dead and buried."

"This time, I swear, I want to make sure we take his head off."

"And bury him at a crossroads under the full moon," she muttered.

He speared one of her potstickers. "We're going to catch him, and stop him. I promise."

Tabby smiled and reached over to steal some of his food. "Thank you, Byrne."

"Do you miss your family?" he asked.

"We see each other often. My brother less than my father. But I go up for family dinners every month or so. Taking the train is actually kind of fun. It's old fashioned in a way I find appealing." She paused again, feeling an old ache. "I miss my mama," she admitted before she could think better of it.

"What happened to you mother?"

"She died," she said softly. "Five years ago."

He was watching her carefully now. "I knew that part, from your profile. But I get the sense there's. . . more."

She put her chop sticks down and nudged her plate away. She didn't want to have this conversation. She'd never had this conversation. Never needed to tell anyone who hadn't been there through the whole mess. She didn't know why she wanted to tell him. "Mama was an empath. She. . when I was with Kincaid she tried to find me."

He blew out a breath slowly. "That's what killed her?"

Tabby nodded. "She connected with me at a. . . very bad time. She wrote down the address for my dad before she had an aneurysm."

He didn't say anything. He just stood up, and came around the table to sit next to her. He pulled her into his arms and gently stroked her hair. He pet her. Tabby made a little choking sound, surprising herself. She buried her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him

“It's not your fault.”

“She was trying to save me.” 

“ She was your mother. If you'd asked her she'd have told you she'd gladly trade her life for yours.” 

Tabby nodded but it didn't stop the tears. “It was so hard without her. She kept us together, the only non-vadasz in a house full of them. Without her we didn't know what to do.” 

“You move forward. It's all you can do." 

She nodded again and leaned back, wiping her eyes then the wet spot on his shirt. “I'm sorry.” 

He sifted her hair through his fingers. “ My mother died when I was born." 

She leaned her head into his hand instinctively. “I'm sorry," she repeated softly.

“It may have been because of me. I've been able to hurt people since I was a baby.” 

He said it so matter-of-factly that it broke her heart. She cupped his face. “ Oh, Byrne.” 

“You internalize it. You get accustomed. You can't spend your whole life hating yourself.”

“ I know. I'm. . . better than I was. In a lot of ways it was harder to get past than the attack. And no one ever blamed me, not even Dad. I just. . . miss her.” 

“ I imagine you always will.” 

Tabby nodded, running a hand over his hair, the short strands tickling her palm. “This is an odd thing to bond over."

That made him smile. “We're odd.” He dipped his head and kissed her gently. She sighed and settled against him, purring. He cupped her face, slowly deepening the kiss. The purring went up a notch and she opened her mouth to him, bone melting heat pooling through her.

He finally pulled back. "I can't seem to stop doing that."

She smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. "I've noticed."

"You're a very tempting woman."

She purred again. "You smell lovely. And have I mentioned the grabbable ass?"

He sifted his fingers through her hair. "I want to keep you safe," he said softly.

She rested her forehead on his. "I feel safe when I'm with you. And I like how you pet me."

“There's no stopping this, is there?"

<“I don't think so, no. Not and see each other, work together.” She scraped her nails lightly along his scalp. “ It's not so bad,” she teased. " You might even like it.”

He laughed. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

She nuzzled his neck, just below his ear. “Besides we keep up like this and I'll begin to think you're a tease.”

“Not tonight.”

“Mmm, yes. Today was not a sexy day."

“I have ice cream in the fridge.”

She grinned widely. “That will do.” She gave him another kiss, long and full of promise, before getting up to go to the freezer.


	12. Chapter 12

Zelda hung up after her conversation with Jordan, putting the phone down slowly just as she heard the front door open and closed. "Perimeter is secure," Winchester called.

"They found the second body," she called back, trying to keep her voice steady. “Jordan called the house looking for you, but I got her to tell me.”

He came into the room and she saw. . . something flicker across his face. "I'm sorry, Zelda."

"I wasn't scared before. Now I am."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Could you maybe get some bigger guns?"

"Yes, but I'll have to call Sol, my cannon takes two people to move."

That made her smile. "Do you really own a cannon?"

"Yes. But it's an antique, so not particularly practical for home defense."

She looked up at him. "What would you do? If you were me?"

He tilted his head. "If I were you? Or if it were me?"

"Those are two different answers?"

"Yes. You are a scientist and a woman with little to no combat training. If I were you I'd do what you're doing. Lay low, keep protected and work with the team to find an answer. I've been trained in every kind of combat and weapon since I was in grade school. I'm also an excellent telekinetic. I own body armor. If it were me I would hunt him down and kill him, then burn the corpse. Two very different answers."

"Rushing out to meet your fate head on? I can see that. Also, the others are hunting him. But I meant on a more immediate level. Like. . .you might die, and you might not be able to stop it. So what do you do?"

"Ah. Probably think of all the things I would like to do before I die and try to do them. A death without regrets is preferable to one with them."

"A Bucket List."

"I am not familiar with the term."

"A list of things to do before you kick the bucket."

His mouth quirked into a smile. "Then yes, I would make a Bucket List."

"It really delights me when you crack a smile."

He inclined his head. "People appreciate things more when they're rare."

"Is the house safe when you're asleep?"

He nodded. "There are various traps and alarms. If anything larger than a squirrel gets on the property and alarm goes off in my room and I investigate."

"And it'll wake you up?"

"Yes. I'm a very light sleeper and it is a very loud alarm."

"Okay. I'm not trying to second guess you. I'm just. . . nervous."

He nodded. "I understand. If you like I can show you the preparations. It might make you feel better."

"Is it okay to go outside?"

"Mmm. Perhaps in the morning when there is better visibility. Speaking of outside, the snowy winter we are having is a tactical advantage. And there is more coming. Makes it much harder for him to sneak up on us."

"I feel bad, you're stuck here living with me. Surely you must have a life I'm keeping you from."

He shrugged. "I don't date much and I dislike crowds. You have a different idea of quality television then I do and I am behind on my to-be-read pile. Other than that it is not an inconvenience."

"What kind of TV do you like?"

He paused. "I watch a lot of Discovery Channel."

"Like. . . nature shows?"

He looked vaguely embarrassed, something usually only his mother caused. "Actually, they have these shows about ghost hunting. . . Also, Mythbusters and Dirty Jobs reruns."

"I love Mythbusters," she said with a smile. "But I don't care what we watch. I'd just like some company. Otherwise I'm going to sit here and watch movies about the world ending-- like those ones where comet hits-- which I'm not sure is healthy."

"Probably not, no. I can make some tea if you go see what they're blowing up tonight."

"I will." She paused. "Thank you."

He half smiled. "My pleasure, Zelda."

*

After a heaping bowl of ice cream Byrne drove Tabby to her car, saying goodbye with one more heady kiss. She drove home, torn between grief and glee. Tove was up and waiting when she got home. "Hey."

Tove put her book down. "How was Hottie McDarksuit?"

"He remains an excellent kisser. And seems to have some to the realization that we are doomed to fall into bed together."

"Is that a good idea?"

Tabby flopped into a chair. "I have no idea but it does seem inevitable." She rubbed a hand over her face. "We found victim number two."

"Oh, honey."

"Yeah. It was a rough day. I told you he took out the apartment in my name. I think he's looking for me."

"Does he know where we live?"

"I think he would have done something by now if he did. Leave a note or a dead bird or something. But there's no way to know for sure."

Tove swallowed. "I'm afraid to be home alone."

Tabby nodded. "I don't blame you. You have clearance. I'll tell Byrne you'll be coming with me if I have to go to more meetings with them."

"That would. . . make me happy."

"I'm sure you'll be welcome. You may even have a new outlook on things that we wouldn't have."

"They're going to be very loud."

"I can block you."

"So. . . when you jump Byrne, I can't decide if it would be worse to be here, or you go there and be alone."

"Oh, Lord. I didn't think of that." She paused. "He offered to get me security detail."

Tove tilted her head. "Possibly one we could share."

"Yes. I'll talk to Byrne, see if we can arrange for one. Might be a good idea to have one around while I'm sleeping, too."

"You call him Byrne all the time?"

"I actually don't know his first name. Which is, like, the opposite of most of the men I've had sex with."

"Maybe he doesn't have one. Maybe he's like Sting."

Tabby laughed at that. "I don't know that he could be anymore not-Sting if he tried."

"Maybe it's something horrible."

"He is from the south."

"I don't know American hill people names. Except for Leroy. I hear that's bad. Maybe it's Leroy."

Tabby chuckled. "I'll make a point to find out before pants come off."

"I won't respect you in the morning if you don't."

"I'll remember that."

"And when this is over, we're going on vacation."

"Absolutely."

Tove sighed. "You really like this one, don't you?"

"You're in my head, you should know." Tabby dug in her pocket and found a hair band, tying her hair back with it.

"I know. It's still nice to talk about things."

"He has been. . . getting under my skin." Tabby smiled. "He is so dreadfully not my type."

"Maybe you need someone not your type. Your type has never exactly done you well."

"Mmm. You have a point. After this many years you'd think one of them would have stuck."

"Maybe you could be. . .happy."

Tabby tilted her head back. "That would be new."

"You deserve it. It's long overdue."

Tabby smiled. "Thank you, but we might be jumping the gun here. We haven't even slept together yet. And I've yet to hear the results of his risk assessment analysis."

"His what?"

She groaned. "Oh, the first time we kissed, when we got dinner after talking to the first victim’s mother. He talked about having to do a risk assessment on us getting together."

Tove laughed. "Wow, that is so. . ."

"Not my type?" she offered, laughing herself.

"I'm sure it will come out in your favor."

"I imagine so. Not sure about long term, though. I get the feeling he's not much into relationships."

"Are you looking for long term?"

"I don't know. I didn't think so. I never have before. But, as you said, it would be nice to be happy."

"Take your happy while you can get it, then."

Tabby nodded. "You are, as always, wise beyond your years."

"Hard learned lessons, all."

"Yes." She pushed herself to her feet. "Well, I should get some work done. You need anything?"

"I'm fine. We might want to go to the grocery store tomorrow, they’re predicting some serious snow this weekend.”

“You’re Norse, surely you don’t fall victim to the desire to buy bottled water and MREs for every dusting.”

Tove laughed. “No. But we’re out of milk and I want to beat the panic.”

"Got it. Goodnight, Tove." She headed up to her office.

*

Friday morning, Doc called the group of them involved with the Kincaid hunt to a meeting. At the appointed time, her door was closed and Carmine was standing at the door. "She's on the phone with her superiors, and has asked everyone to wait here."

"She's sending us home," Reg said.

John gave him a look. "For the snow? Don't hold your breath. She made us come in during Hurricane Isabel."

Reg smiled. "Bet me?"

"Seriously, Fred?" Zelda asked. "You'll tell us about _that_ but not if I'm still going to die?" She sighed. "If he had a body I'd kick his ass."

"Fred can only tell me things that are certain. The weather is not affected by the whims of man."

"Doc certainly is."

Carmine tilted her head. "She says you can come in now," she told them, and stepped out of the way.

They all filed in, finding Doc sitting behind her desk looking vaguely disgruntled. "Sorry for the delay," she said, sounding distracted.

"Reg thinks you're sending us home," Sol said. "Money almost changed hands over the issue."

She looked at Reg. "How long have you known?"

"Only a couple of hours," he admitted.

"How bad is it going to be?"

"The media frenzy will be a thing of beauty. Handful of deaths - mostly car accidents, collapsed roofs and power outages. The eastern seaboard basically shuts down for a few days."

Doc sighed. "They're shutting the government down." She waved at her phone. John imagined that was her call.

"I do have some good news from Fred related to the storm," Reg offered.

"I'm listening."

"If anything happens to Zelda-- and he's still very confused on this-- in all candidate scenarios, apparently the ground is dry. He must not like snow."

"So she's safe as long as it's snowing?" Sol asked.

"So he says. Nothing happens till the weather improves."

"I can confirm that with Tabby," John said. "About him and snow."

They all turned to look at him. He kept stone faced until Doc said, "If you want. Anyway, you're all to go home as soon as you can. Carmine is spreading the word. We'll keep you posted as to when we open up again."

"I'm a lot less worried about the weather than I was five minutes ago," Winchester commented.

Zelda sighed. "I'm sad. I was excited about my party."

He shrugged. "We have a generator. I did not want the alarm system to be vulnerable to power outages or line cutting. And your television signal comes by satellite."

"Driving is frowned upon during states of emergency."

Sol grinned. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I have an Emergency Responder’s card. And big tires. I'll be there."

"The Saints are in the Superbowl," Reg said. "I will crawl over glass to see that on a big screen."

Doc shook her head, chuckling. "Have fun. I am hunkering down with my husband. I'll see you all later."

They all stood. As John left, Winchester was explaining to Doc how he needed to arrange a snowplow in advance for Zelda's long driveway. Entirely for security reasons, of course. The kid was growing on him, just a bit.

"Are you going Sunday?" Sol asked him.

"Depends what the roads are like. My car does have all-wheel-drive, but it's not an SUV or anything."

Sol gave him a toothy grin. "Guess it depends on how motivated you are that day, huh?"

"I'd hate to be the only no-show. Could be bad for morale."

"Yes. We will all judge you."

"I invited Tabby," Zelda said from behind them. "In case that helps with motivation." John turned and gave her a look.

Sol laughed. "Yep. Totally judge you."

"Surely you have some security related thing to do."

"I'm sure I can dig something up," he said, wandering off, still chuckling.

John shook his head and went into his office. He picked up his phone and called Tabby. She sounded sleepy when she answered. "Hello, Byrne."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay for the blizzard."

"We stocked up on food, water and firewood last night," she assured him. "The dogs have been brought into the side porch. Is it going to be bad?"

"Yes. I imagine your windows are covered, but it's coming down here already, I'm sure it is there. They're sending us home, the government's shutting down."

"That is serious. Will you be okay?"

"I’m fine. I live nearby. I just wanted to check on you guys."

"Well, I appreciate that," she purred. "We should be just fine."

"Zelda's party is still on, theoretically."

"Oh, that's good. I was looking forward to it."

"If you have an emergency, or need anything, call me. I can have someone there as quickly as possible."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "I will."

"I'll see you Sunday?"

"Absolutely. I'll see you there."

"Oh," he said with a chuckle. "I almost forgot. Reg says Zelda's safe as long as it's snowing. Did he ever kill anyone in bad weather?"

There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Not in snow, that I recall. I remember it was raining at least once when we found a body. But I don't remember any snow."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"So Zelda can breathe a little easier?"

"So all of us can."

"You might want to check the old case files, just in case. But I guess my recollection is pretty accurate. I know it was clear the day he grabbed me."

"Reg is rarely wrong. I just like confirmation."

"You'd have made a good cop," she told him and he could hear a smile in her voice.

"Be safe."

"You too."

He hung up the phone, setting it down gently. Well, Panzer would be happy to see him home at least.


	13. Chapter 13

This woman had gotten under his skin.

John was an imminently logical man. He considered carefully, and made the most rational decision among any set of choices. Certainly there was no logic or rationality in going outside, clearing his car off, shoveling out of his parking spot, and heading out onto some very treacherous roads to drive all the way to Herndon to Zelda’s house to watch the Superbowl. He tried to tell himself it was because he had no electricity or television of his own, and Zelda had called him that morning to tell him the generator was gassed and the satellite dish cleared. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Tabby had called him not long after to tell him she was getting on the road early. She and Tove had no power and were cold.

Panzer was exceptionally excited about his ride in the car. Nothing made Panzer happier than a ride in the car, except for visiting new places, and food. And sometimes getting to go out in the yard in the morning. Dogs were simple.

He was surprised to find the driveway was nearly full of cars. How many people had come out in this snow? He pulled up as close as he could, and hoped he could get his doors open, because there were three-foot plow drifts on either side. Panzer leapt over him to try and beat him out of the driver's side door. Moving with 75lbs of dog in your lap was surprisingly hard.

He managed to get the door open and Panzer went flying out onto the snow. By the time John got out the dog was halfway to the house and was bouncing around Carmine's feet. She'd been on her way to the door but must have changed directions when she saw Panzer.

"Look at you,” she said with a shake of her head. “It's a Superbowl party. It's supposed to be casual."

"I'm not wearing a suit."

"No. But you are wearing pants with a pressed crease. You are more dressed up right now than most people are at work."

He touched his sweater through the open front of his coat. Perhaps one was not supposed to wear cashmere to a Superbowl party. "They're gray," he offered. "You ordered me not to wear black, and I complied."

She shook her head with a sigh. "You're hopeless." She ruffled Panzer's fur. "Ready to go in?"

_I should patrol the property_

She patted him. "Good idea. Don't get into trouble."

He barked, and then took off, bouncing through the snow. "Come back if you get cold!" John yelled after him.

He yipped a few times, heading to the back of the house. John could see Sol’s giant SUV come up to the end of the driveway, pause for a moment, then drive a few feet and pull up onto the snow-covered lawn. Those tires would do some of the rednecks John grew up with proud. Carmine shook her head and tucked her arm into John's as they headed up to the house. "How are you doing, Mr. B?”

It made him smile when she called him that. All of Luca’s kids had. Carmine still made a point to do it during "off hours”. When he met her for the first time she'd been a teenager, and sometimes it still surprised him that she was a grown woman. Her mother had seemed personally offended that John spent holidays alone and insisted Luca bring him home for Thanksgiving and Christmas and everything else. "Remarkably well. Considering we're trying to find a crazy serial killer. I can’t believe you’re here."

“I have no power, heat, internet or TV.”

“That’ll do it.”

"Jordan told me you were getting along well with Ms. MacAllister."

"Oh. . . I knew she had to be gossiping to someone."

"Girls talk. And she needs to vent more than most. Besides, I asked. I like to know how you're doing. And I liked her. She had a good. . . vibe to her."

"We're very different."

She gave his arm a squeeze. "Different can be good. I shudder to think of you with a woman just like you."

"We'd have matching suits."

"But the schedules. Think of the things I'd have to schedule for you." They reached the door and Carmine paused. "I don't have any place telling you how to run your life. But I do want you to be happy. Jordan said she made you smile."

That, of course, made him smile. "That she does. Laugh even."

"Well, that does it. I'm sending her a fruit basket."

"Just make sure they're not stinky fruit," he said as he opened the door.

She laughed and shook her head. "Got it." She went in ahead of him, heading for the noise in the TV room.

He followed her, stopping in the doorway to survey the scene. There were platters of food on every surface. Reg was wearing a Saints jersey and Zelda had decked herself with what looked to be a dozen strings of Mardi Gras beads. Winchester lurked in the corner, all in black. His pants had pressed creases. John felt a moment of solidarity as he took off his coat.

Her watched Carmine put down the bag of food she'd brought and hug Zelda. Reg waved at him. "Want a drink?"

"Just point me at the beer."

He hooked a thumb. "Kitchen. There's a variety."

"As long as it's not PBR, I'm happy," he said. He went in and grabbed a bottle out of the fridge and popped the top off before returning to the living room.

Jordan had appeared and was teasing Reg about his jersey. The front door opened and Sol came in, carrying two buckets of snow. "Stores are closed, so I couldn’t get ice. Thought this would do. Did I miss anything?"

"Not that I can see," John said. He gestured with his bottle. "Beer in the fridge."

He nodded and slipped past him to dump off the snow. John took a seat near the couch in time to hear Carmine asking Reg if his partner was coming.

"He said he was," Zelda replied. “Though he lives in DC, and the Beltway’s pretty ugly.”

That got a smile and a blush. Jordan perched on the arm of John's chair. "She's adorable."

John frowned. "He's a lot older than her."

She shrugged. "Crushes know no logic. I think it's sweet. Especially considering how oblivious he is."

"There's a surprisingly amount of lust floating around our office, isn't there?" 

"I don't think it's surprising. Most of us grew up in psychic families, but we still had to hide who we were from other people. There's a certain appeal to being around people you don't have to hide anything from. It's comfortable."

"Yeah, I can see that. We are often the only non-family psychics any of us know."

"I'm often more surprised at who *doesn't* have crushes. Sol for example, while occasionally appreciating how someone's jeans fit, doesn't have any designs on anyone. Mostly, I'm guessing, because we're his pack."

"And that would be incestuous?"

"I guess. I don't get into vadasz sexual politics. You could ask your own Ms. Lusty Feelings when she arrives."

He cringed. "Please don't call her that."

Jordan laughed. "Well, not while she's around."

"I'm serious. She has a name."

"I like making you squirm. I take my vengeance where I find it."

"Thanks," he said with a sigh.

"So, when are you going to sleep with her? I'd like to have a warm shower again."

"You make it sound like the lusty feelings will go away."

"Pre-naked sexual tension is worse than people are actually sleeping together. It's more intense and has that taint of frustration. People who have done the deed are just. . . happy."

"Well . . . that's good to know, I guess."

She patted his back. "Try to have fun."

The front door creaked and Tabby and Tove came in, carrying huge trays of appetizers. Tabby was bundled literally head-to-toe in fabric. He couldn't see an inch of skin, just sunglasses peeking over a scarf. It was very, very bright out, particularly with the snow reflection. He couldn’t believe she came.

Zelda waved, then tapped something on her watch. Shades lowered over all the windows, and lamps came on. Only Zelda would have a 170 year old house wired like a spaceship. 

Tabby hugged Zelda one-armed before handing off her food tray and divesting herself of her layers of clothing. She was in a Saints t-shirt that was slightly too short and low slung jeans. John caught glimpses of midriff as she unwound her scarves. She then grabbed Tove's arm and started walking her around to introduce her to everyone she hadn't met.

John couldn't take his eyes off her. Jordan made a pained noise beside him.

The pair had reached Sol and he and Tabby were sniffing each other from a respectable distance. They seemed to meet each other's standards. She noticed John then and made a beeline over to them. John’s smile widened into a grin. "Well, hello there."

"Hello, Byrne. Jordan. Tove said to tell you I'm driving her crazy, too."

John made a choking noise and put his hand over his eyes. Jordan patted his arm and hopped up. "I'm gonna get a snack. Talk to you later."

He looked up at Tabby. "Hello. Happy Superbowl Sunday."

"Happy Superbowl Sunday, to you." She gestured to her shirt. "Guess I'm an honorary southerner for the day."

"If only there were less yankee in your voice."

"Ah could do mah best Scarlet O’Hara impression," she drawled. "But the New York always shines through."

"I like it," he said. "It’s different."

She leaned on the arm of his chair, like Jordan has, only with far more of her leg touching his. _Someday can I hear yours?_

_This isn't enough?_

She shrugged. _It'll do, but the real one might be nice. I'm a sucker for accents, like any Yankee girl._

_It really doesn't sound cool like Reg's. It sounds redneck_

_Well, I won't push. Am I allowed to touch you or are we keeping up appearances?_

He put his hand on her knee. "We have four telepaths, an empath and a vadasz. No one has any secrets."

"Well, only the one telepath can hear me, but I take your point. Just wanted to be sure."

"Speaking of your one telepath, it looks like she's making friends." He inclined his head towards where Tove was talking with Sol.

Tabby's brow went up. "Interesting. I must carefully censor my thoughts on this so she doesn't get flustered."

Tove looked up, just then, and then turned to walk toward them, Sol following her. "Tabby, could you take the walls down for a moment?"

John felt her jump a little in surprise. "Sure." She looked down a moment, then gave Tove a nod.

She cringed a little, and then her face cleared. She looked over at Sol. "It worked."

"What worked?" Tabby asked.

"He’s holding walls for me. He claimed he could do it and mostly shut himself out. It's. . .remarkably quiet. And. . .you're a nice guy, Byrne, but I'm really tired of thinking about you naked."

Tabby choked and covered her eyes. Sol just rumbled a laugh. "Well," John said tactfully, "I'm glad you're happy."

"Thank you, Sol," Tabby said, faintly. "I appreciate it."

He grinned. "Anytime."

Tove turned, and walked back to the table full of food. Sol watched her walk off for a moment before following behind her. Halfway there, the turned suddenly and looked at him, and blushed, before returning to the food.

"Not entirely shut out," John murmured.

"Apparently not." She put an arm around his shoulders. "I may have to threaten your teammate."

He shook his head. "You would."

"I gotta watch out for my girl."

"Is someone going to come threaten me?"

She tilted her head. Her fingers were tracing little patterns on the back of his neck. "Possibly once I tell my family about you."

"I'm a hard man to threaten."

She grinned. "That just means they'll like you."

His mouth quirked. "I can take it."

She leaned a little closer. "I have every faith in you."

He closed his eyes. "I promised Jordan we'd behave."

"Mmm. What about after the party?"

"I believe my calendar is clear."

"Excellent. Maybe I can convince Sol to be Tove's security for the evening."

"We were discussing assigning him to you, if you felt you needed it."

"I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Tove is nervous being alone in the house with Kincaid interested in me. I'd like to bring her to the group meetings. And have some kind of guard for her if I'm not there or asleep."

"I'll get it set up," he said. 

She smiled. "Thank you."

"Perhaps after the game I can tell you about my risk assessment."

"You know, I was curious as to how that worked out."

"I didn't bring the analysis, so you'll have to rely on just a summary."

She sighed deeply. "That will have to do."

He leaned closer, and whispered. "Came out in your favor."

She rested her forehead on his. “Good." Something happened on the TV screen, causing the general crowd to erupt in noise. John leaned up to give her a quick kiss. Tabby was grinning widely when he leaned back. "This thing better not go into overtime."

"We can sneak out early."

She rubbed his neck. "That appeals. Football's not exactly my sport. In New York we worship the baseball."

"I've heard that."

"I have fond memories of attending night games at Yankee stadium with my Dad and Grandpa."

"I've never been to a professional baseball game."

She tilted her head. "Not into sports?"

"I just never got around to it. I don't know if I could resist the temptation to influence the ball."

She laughed. "Ah. That I can understand. My brother stopped playing ball with me once he figured out how far my reflexes went."

Hi lifted an eyebrow. "I think I'd like to see that."

Her eyes darkened and her smile changed, turning a bit into a smirk. "Oh, I imagine with your powers plus my powers we're going to have an interesting night.”

*

Tabby tracked Tove down during the third quarter. "So, Byrne wants me to come home with him and check out his risk assessment report. Are you all right with Sol guarding you for a while?

Tove grinned. "Be safe."

"Thanks. I'll see you later." She gave her a hug and went to find Byrne, who was giving Sol his assignment. Who didn't seem terribly put out by the request.

Sol looked over at Tabby with a smile. "I hear your house is nice."

"It is. There quite a bit of land and it's pretty private. Just beware of the pool."

He made a face. "I don't swim."

"Me neither. It's covered for the winter anyway. Tove and the dogs seem to enjoy it. We had a lot of trouble getting out of the driveway. It’s gravel and a slushy, muddy mess."

“He has a monster truck, I wouldn’t worry,” Byrne commented.

“Do not mock my truck,” he replied. "I will keep everything secure, I promise,” he said to Tabby.

She smiled and touched his arm. "Thank you, Sol."

He and Byrne exchanged a look, and then Sol wandered off. She nudged Byrne. "So. Ready to sneak out?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, his voice teasing ”Don't want to stay for the end of the game?"

"I'd rather go start our own."

They got their coats, made their way to the front door, and Byrne closed the door very quietly. He took a deep breath of the crisp air. "I love the snow."

She smiled and brushed some off of a bush. "Me too. Everything seems more peaceful. Quiet." With the sun mostly set she hadn’t had to bundle up quite as badly. He leaned over and kissed her, once, gently. Tabby titled her face up to him, putting her hands on his chest for balance. It was a sweet, almost romantic kiss, out there in the snow. Until it was interrupted by an enthusiastic German Sheppard.

"Down!" Byrne said.

Panzer jumped around them both, kicking up snow. _There were birds. And squirrels. And I ate some snow._

"That's a good boy." There was something adorable about watching him interact with his dog. Such a contrast to his usual manner. "You ready to go home?"

_I need a nap._ He looked at Tabby, wagging his tail. _Is she coming? Can I sit in the front seat?_

Byrne unlocked his car, and opened the passenger side door. "In the back.” The dog shook himself off and hopped in the car. Tabby kissed Byrne's cheek on her way to getting in herself.

He was quiet as they got out on the road. Panzer dozed in the backseat. Byrne didn't say anything, he just reached over and put his hand on her knee. She rested a hand on his and respected the silence. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk with the canine chaperone in the back anyway.

It seemed to take forever to get back to Arlington and the car was full of pheromones. Panzer made a beeline for his bed once Byrne let them in the house, leaving them alone in the living room. Tabby found herself playing with her hair nervously.

He took her hand, and pulled her close enough to kiss. "Come upstairs?"

She took a deep breath of his scent. "There's just one thing. . ."

He nibbled on her lower lip. "Mmm?"

"I have no idea what your first name is. And I'll be damned if I'm going to cry out 'Oh, Agent Byrne' in the throes of passion."

He started laughing. He laughed so hard he threw his head back. "John," he said. "My name is John."

She grinned widely and cupped his face in her hands. "Hello, John," she said softly before pulling him down for a kiss.

The kiss was hot now, intense. They explored each other’s mouths and tore at each other's clothing. He started backing up, pulling her with him. “Upstairs.”

They broke the kiss when he hit the first step and he took her hand as they went up together. Lord, she thought he'd smelled good in the car. On the top step she pounced on him again, kissing him roughly. He pushed her against the wall in the hallway, gripping the bottom of her shirt and tugging it up. He was a little rough, but she didn't mind. She lifted her arms and the shirt went flying over his shoulder. She took the opportunity to shove both hands under his sweater and pull it up and off.

“Careful with that,” he told her, but he didn't seem to pay attention to where she tossed it. He was busy unhooking her bra.

She ran her hands over his chest and grinned when he got the bra undone. Four hooks in record time. She bet he used his powers on that one. She lowered her arms so the bra could slide off, then reached up to kiss him again.

He groaned. “We should take our time.”

She kissed along his jaw and sucked his earlobe. “Seriously?”

“Mmm.” He cupped her breasts in his palms and flicked his thumbs over her nipples. “Do it right”

She shuddered. “There’s lots of ways to do it right.” She ran her hands down his back and under the waistband of his slacks, cupping his rear. “Ah. So grabbable.” He managed to groan and chuckle at the same time. He unbuttoned her jeans, and pushed them over her hips. She gave a wiggle so they would drop and stepped out of them, leaving her naked. “I suppose we could find a horizontal surface, at least. Negotiating the wall might be a bit much for our first time.”

John shrugged “We're nearly the same height.”

She chuckled, hands going for his fly. “I like this side of you.”

She got his belt off, and as she was opening the button, the zipper unzipped itself. For some reason, that made her laugh. “It's a handy talent,” he told her.

“I can see that. I bet in junior high you were snapping girl's bras from across the room.” She slid a hand into his slacks without pushing them down. His eyes drifted closed and he groaned, bracing one arm on the wall.

She grinned widely, stroking his cock slowly and firmly. She did love men's reactions to things. There was a certain power to finding the right stroke or button that could bring a man to his knees. And then letting him find that button on her. She kissed him again, hard and demanding, shoving his pants down with her free hand.

She felt. . .she didn't even know how to describe it. Like he was touching her clit-- no, like a vibrator was touching her clit. Only she could see both of his hands, one braced on the wall, one on her breasts.

She purred, nibbling his lip. “That's fascinating.”

The touch spread, reaching up inside her, and he released her breast to follow with his fingers and explore her. Tabby moaned, lifting her leg to wrap it around his, hitching herself closer. He reached back to hold her leg up, and let her guide him into her. She had to go on tiptoe a bit to get the angle right but she finally lined him up and rocked her hips, sliding him inside. She moaned again, lifting her arms to wrap them around his shoulders for balance as she moved her hips against him. He kissed her gently, and thrust hard. “See?”

She gasped, head tipping back. “Yes. You were right, we line up nicely.” She leaned in to inhale his scent, heat rising and twisting in her with each of his thrusts. He was still. . .buzzing her. She didn't know what to call it. It wavered unpredictably, but that almost felt better.

She lifted her mouth to devour his, hips bucking against him. The buzzing and the thrusting blended, tightening her insides with intense pleasure. He shifted a hand to tease her breast again and the simple touch sent her over the edge. She whimpered into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders and back as she tightened around him.

He made a sound remarkably like a vadasz growl, and lifted her nearly off the ground as he came into her. Tabby buried her face in his neck, breathing hard enjoying the change of his scent. The richness of pheromones and the heavy musk of good sex.

John rested his head against the wall and sucked in a few breaths. Then he turned his head and kissed her ear. "Bedroom is the doorway 6 inches from your elbow. But I'm not sure I can move."

She laughed, slowly lowering her leg and shifting away from him. "I don't think you'd want me to carry you."

"I can sleep standing up, and it's pretty tempting right now."

She gave him a deep kiss. "Mmm. Bed to myself." She slid to the side, pushing the bedroom door open.

Tabby stretched out on top of his neatly made bed. It had exactly two pillows, and single blanket, and hospital corners. She was actually surprised when she sat to discover he had a very plush mattress. Which was good. An ultra-firm mattress would have been a serious problem for the future of their relationship. He came in a moment later, now entirely naked and carrying his clothes. She watched in amazement as a man who had just joked about sleeping standing sorted his clothes into three different sections of a divided hamper, then opened the closet to put shoes on a shelf in there. Over his shoulder she could see whole row of black suits.

She propped up on one arm, watching him come to bed with a wide smile on her face. "You are a very sexy man, John," she said when he reached her.

"The feeling is mutual." He bent to pull the blanket and sheet down to turn down the bed, giving her a kiss on the way. She scooted so she could get under the covers, and he joined her. "You cold? I have more blankets."

She curled against his side, head on his shoulder and one hand over his heart. "I'm fine."

From the nightstand, his phone beeped. He glanced down at her and she nodded, so he reached over to look at it. "Zelda sent me a text message consisting of eleven exclamation points."

"I'm guessing the game is over. Or very exciting."

"Maybe the Saints won." She watched him flick around it for a moment before setting it back down. "Yes. They did."

She nuzzled him. "Mmm. Reg must be thrilled."

"I imagine. I was rooting for them because I like underdogs. He's actually from there. Well, southern Louisiana."

"I suspected, from the voice. I'm with you on the underdog thing."

He tucked one arm behind his head. "I'll catch the replays."

She lifted a fist in the air. "Woo! Sex beats football."

He laughed. "Generally it does."

"I don't know. I knew some guys in my neighborhood who would have had to think hard about sex versus baseball." She traced patterns on his skin. "Something I've been meaning to ask you."

"I'll only tell you my middle name if you swear to never speak of it again."

She laughed. "That wasn't it, but now I'm curious. It was actually about Reg. You seemed to get along really well with the rest of your team. Your relationships with Jordan and Carmine are practically familial. But there's a . . . tension between you and Reg. Like there's bad blood."

He sighed. "There used to be. Maybe there still is. I take it you noticed the scar on Carmine's face?"

"The ones on her arm, too. She was in a fire?"

"Bomb, actually. Her father was my first partner. Luca. He came to our team from the mafia with a long list of classified enemies. One of them set a car bomb and killed the whole family. Carmine was the only one to survive."

"Jesus," Tabby whispered. 

"Reg knew it was going to happen, and he didn't tell anyone."

She processed that a moment. "Did he ever tell you why not?"

"We didn't talk about it. I punched him." He sighed. “I'd assumed he didn't know. The power is fickle, he can miss things. Not long after we started working together Fred was wrong about the trajectory of a hurricane that flooded Reg’s own hometown. We had to get his mother off the roof of her house because his family ignores all evac orders that don't come from him. But after Luca died, Reg was thinking about it loud enough—guilt is loud—that people heard. I punched him in the hospital waiting room. It wasn't my proudest moment."

She rubbed his arm gently. "I understand. If anything had happened to my partner and there'd been someone who could have stopped it. . . I'm not sure I'd have stopped at a punching."

"I love Jordan," he said. "But I miss Luca every day."

"Have you ever thought about asking him why?"

"I can't imagine he'd tell me. I don't think our relationship is at 'painful questions' yet."

She tilted her head. "Carmine doesn't seem to hate him."

"She's also a far more forgiving sort than me."

"This is true." She kissed him gently and put her head on his shoulder again. "Embarrassing middle name, huh?"

"It's Bob."

"What's wrong with Robert?"

"No, it's Bob. Just Bob. John Bob Byrne is on my birth certificate."

She blinked at him, then snickered, then had to roll away she was laughing so hard. _Oh my God, that's so redneck._

He heaved a sigh. "Don't I know it," he said finally, in his Appalachia accent.

Tabby got a hold of herself and smiled at him. "Ah. I like that." She rolled over to kiss him. "Thank you."

"For the accent?"

"For the accent. For tonight. For a favorable risk assessment."

He closed his eyes. "Well. . . the reward side of the chart was very high."

She settled against his shoulder again. "I'll try to live up to expectations."

"I need to nap," he murmured. "Or I'm going to get a migraine."

She decided to pursue that line of questioning when he woke up. "Go ahead. I'll probably doze, too." She closed her eyes. "Sweet dreams."

He kissed her hair, and then pet her gently until he drifted off.


End file.
